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PERKINS  LIBRARY 

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FLOWERS 


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HOPE  AND  MEMORY: 


Collection  of  |1ocms, 


BT 


COHNELIA  J.  M.  JOHDAN. 


RICHMOND,     VA.: 

PUBLISHED    BY    A.    MORRIS. 

1861. 


Entered,  accordin/;  to  Act  of  Congresp,  in  the  year  ISOI, 

ItY    A.     MO  11  HIS, 

In  the  Clerk's  OflScc  of  the  District  Court  inr  t lie  District  of  Virginia. 


7  *  532- 


Q'Tz^e   FzTeside   and   fhue   G-Tcuue, 

Qltue  Livzizg  cuizd  tlze  (^eouoL 

of  a 

^ToTcen  Home-CiTcle, 

Q^Jizs    Yoluime   is    cuffectzojiately 

CLTid  teOyTfuilly  zriQGTzhed, 


]* 


175704 


CONTENTS. 


175704 


Page 

Proem,        ....  .  xi 

The  Bride  of  Heaven,  .  .13 

V  The  Prayer  of  Faith,  .....  20 

Song  of  the  Morning  Sprite,    .....         22 

Little  Thing?,  ......  25 

Thou  art  Gone  to  the  Grave,    .  .  •  .27 

The  Mansion  by  the  Sea,    .  .  .  •  •  29 

.  The  Poor,  ....■•         36 

^  Death  of  the  Heart-flower,  ....  38 

Eulalie,  .......         42 

To  Spring,   .....-•  46 

'A  Dirge  for  Laura,        ....■•         49 

-  The  Flowers  have  Come,     .  .  .  •  51 

On  the  Death  of  Mrs.  G.  S.  Meem,      .  .53 

"The  Summer  Rain,  .  .  -  •  ^"^ 

^There's  a  Cloud  on  my  Spirit,  .... 

Musings  at  the  Grave  of  a  Young  Sister,  . 

Invocation,        .....•• 

To  Little  Emily,      ....••  71 

^  A  Farewell  to  the  Dying  Year,  .  .74 

^  To  a  Cross,  ......  77 

• 'The  Maniac  Girl,  .....  79 


59 
62 

68 


Vm  CONTENTS. 

Page 

wTo  a  Miniature  of  the  Dead,  ....  82 

^  Ilarsh  Words,    ...  ...         84 

V  *A  Memory,  ......  86 

A  Little  Child's  Prayer,  .  .  .  .         90 

^  ,  "I  Would  not  Live  Ahvayp,"         ....  1)2 

^To  a  Friend.      (For  a  Bouquet,  during  Illne.^s.)  .  94 

^^hadows  of  Memory,  .....  DO 

•What  a  Zephyr  Told  Me,  .  .  .101 

^^fcJiittle  Carlton — A  Lament,  .  .  .  104 

^The  Nose  Out  of  Joint,  .  .  .  .106 

•A  Remembered  Sermon,     .  .  .  109 

\/'«^In  Memoriani,   .  .112 

A  Mother's  Prayer,  115 

V^^To  Sleep.      (AVritton  in  Siokne.<s.;  .118 

^v^^"c  llonce,  .  120 

^vTlie  Bride  of  Death,     .  .122 

yTo  a  Dear  Uncle,     .  124 

^  Fat  her' .s  Lament,  .127 

w< .'Night  Watch  with  a  Dead  Infant,  ...  132 

^  The  Soldiers  Dream,     .  .136 

^.Childnii,      .......  138 

Stanzas,  .141 

.  Little  Uclen,  ......  143 

The  Confirmation,  ......        147 

.  To  a  Sleeping  Infant,  151 

j^n  the  Death  of  Mrs.  Fannie  S.  Gibbons,  Ib'.i 

V  Aspirations,  ......  156 

L'Envoi,  .......       158 

^The  Woods  in  Summer,       .....  ICO 

.  •  To  my  Harp,     .......       163 

The  Christening,      .  ....  105 

,   Give  me  thy  Blessing,  Father,  dear,     ....       167 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


Guardian  Spiritp, 
.  Summer's  Gone, 

^  To  Her  who  A'ked  me  for  a  Poem, 
.    .  My  Little  Flower, 

•  To  the  Wind, 
.  A  Child's  Morning  Hymn. 

•  The  Blind  Girl  with  FJower?, 
k,  w  «' We  had  but  One." 

"^  Memory,       .... 

To  Baby  Frank — Sleeping. 
-  Shall  I  be  Forgotten  Thu?. 

Wake  up.  Little  Darling, 

To  an  Angel  Spirit, 
V  A  Welcome,       .... 
■  To  a  Young  Sparr<iw, 
.    A  Child'.s  Evening  Hymn, 
•    '  Musing.''  in  a  Churchyard, 

To  a  Remembered  Dream, 

The  Stricken  Heart*.''  Lament, 

To  a  Withering  Ro.«e,   . 

•  A  Morning  at  Cliff  Cottage, 

Written  for  a  Mother  in  her  Son"."  Bible, 
Ah  I  I  Felt  I  was  Forgotten, 
,  A  Little  Hint  to  Little  B\aux, 
,   .  To  an  Only  Sister,  . 

•  Newsboy's  Christmas  Address, 

On  Revisiting  the  Home  of  my  Childhood 
.  To  Blanche,       .... 
"«  •  Stewart  Holland,     . 

w  A  Little  Hint  to  Little  Belle.«, 
A  Sister's  Farewell, 
Flowers  from  the  Convent  of  Mt.  de  Sale? 


169 

171 

174 

176 

178 

180 

182 

185 

188 

190 

192 

195 

197 

201 

2(1.3 

207 

209 

212 

214 

221 

224 

228 

2.30 

232 

236 

239 

241 

248 

250 

253 

259 

262 


CONTEXTS. 


Pftge 
2f)8 


^  My  Little  Star,        ...... 

.'   Lipht  in  Darkne,«s,         ....  ^       071 

To  I.-^a^el, 275 

-  My  Mary,  •••....       277 

:  •  A  Place  at  thy  Feet,  Oh  !  my  Saviour,       .  .  281 

^  Old  'Winter  lias  Come,  ......       2S4 

.  vOver  !......  ogg 

A  Little  Boy's  Wi.«h  and  Resolution,   .  .       ^     .  ogg 

V  An  Evening  at  Cliff  Cottage,  ■  ...  291 

.  Not  Again,         •  .  .  .  .  2'^4 

A  Sabliath  in  May,  295 

Little  Rannie, 

•    Song,  .  . 

-   "  A.>jhc8  of  Roses," 

To  One  in  Ilearen, 

Inuigen  to  Frederick,    ...  -^^^ 

'•Where  is  Helen?  ...^j 

My  Little  Name.<sake,     .  '{j3 

The  Fear  of  Blindness,  ^jg 

A  Daughter's  Prayer,    ...  300 

Thy  Will  be  Uone, 3o;j 

I  A  National  llviun  for  the  New  Year  '>o7 


298 
30 1 
302 
305 


r  R  0  E  M. 


With  loving  hands  I  humWy  bring 
My  little  wreath  of  flowers; 

Some  gathered  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
And  some  from  wild  wood  bowers. 

Some  blossom'd  in  my  life's  glad  Spring, 

Others  in  later  years. 
And  some  were  cuU'd  and  woven  in 

The  autumn  time,  of  tears. 

Some  grew  like  sea-weeds,  distant  far. 

By  sounding  Ocean  caves, 
And  some  (dearest  of  all  are  these). 

Have  blossom'd  over  graves. 


XU  PROEM. 

No  rare  exotics  mingle  here 
Their  rainbow  hues  combined, 

But  simple  flowers  alone  look  out 
And  ask  your  welcome  kind. 

Such  as  they  are, — for  you,  my  friends, 
I've  twined  this  wreath,  to  be 

A  votive  offering  at  the  shrine 
Of  lloj)e  and  Memory. 


FLOWERS  OF  HOPE  AKD  MEMORY. 


THE  BRIDE  OF  HEAVEN. 

She  was  arrayed  as  for  a  Bridal  hour; 
Round  her  fair  forehead  twined  a  matchless  wreath 
Of  spotless  Orange  flowers,  and  her  dark  hair 
Lay  in  rich,  glossy  folds,  around  a  brow 
Which  wore  the  seal  of  youth  and  beauty  too. 
The  smile  of  truth  played  on  her  coral  lip, 
And  on  her  check  the  blush  of  innocence  ; 
While  faith  and  hope  beamed  from  her  dark-brown 

eyes. 
In  the  gay  world  I  had  known  Genevieve, 
A  being  loved  and  lovely.     Yet  I  marked 

2 


J  4  THE    BRIDE    OF   HEAVEN. 

That  oft  slie  seemed  as  some  lone  star,  whose  light 

Waned  in  the  skies,  forsaken.     Oftentimes 

A  spell  of  brooding  sadness  darkly  stole 

Over  her  gentle  spirit,  causing  friends 

To  marvel  that  her  heritage  of  wealth. 

And  Nature's  bounteous  dower  of  rarest  gifts. 

Did  fail  to  bring  her  happiness  complete. 

And  there  w^as  one  within  whose  noble  heart 

Her  image  lay,  e'en  like  a  mirror  bright, 

Which  did  reflect  all  that  in  Earth  or  Heaven 

To  him  seemed  beautiful.     Aye,  and  his  love. 

His  first,  fresh,  early  love  was  hers.     Alas  ! 

That  w^e  should  ever  Avaste  the  treasured  wealth 

Of  deep  and  true  affection,  on  a  heart 

Within  whose  depths  there  ne'er  can  throb  one  pulse 

Of  answering  sympathy.     She  had  long  vowed 

To  let  no  human  passion  e'er  find  place 

Within  her  maiden  bosom,  and  the  hour. 

The  solemn  hour  had  come,  when  she  should  be 

Declared  the  consecrated  Bride  of  Heaven. 

Lights  shone  resplendent  through  the  vaulted  dome 

Of  the  old  Convent  Chapel ;  tapers  bright 


THE   BRIDE   OF   HEAVEN.  15 

Gleamed  softly  through  the  aisles,  and,  here  and 

there, 
Lit  up  with  mellow  ray,  the  quaint  Chef-d'oeuvre 
Of  some  old  Master. 

Eager  crowds  pressed  in  : 
The  young  and  old,  the  gay  and  sad  of  heart ; 
Mirth  with  her  jests,  and  Sorrow  with  her  tears; 
Manhood  and  Beauty,  Youth  and  Age  were  there. 
And  he  was  there,  whose  lofty  brow  was  bent, 
Whose  heart  was  breaking  at  the  sacrifice. 
He  saw  the  Orange  wreath  placed  on  her  brow, 
And  in  her  hand,  the  mystic  Crucifix, 
While  round  her  floated,  gracefully,  the  veil. 
Timidly,  yet  not  with  fear,  she  approached 
The  illumined  altar,  and  the  white-stoled  Priest 
Opened  the  Holy  Book,  and  in  loud  voice  • 
Asked  the  stern  questions  : 

"  Dost  thou  here  renounce 
The  world,  its  pomps  and  vanities  ?     Dost  fling 
Aside  all  tics  of  human  love,  and  vow 
To  let  no  Earth-born  passion  e'er  displace 
The  sacred  love  of  Jesus  ?     Wilt  forsake 


16  THE   BRIDE   OF   HEAVEN. 

All    that  tlie  world   holds    dear,  wealth,   honors, 

friends. 
To  be  henceforth  the  chosen  bride  of  Christ  ?" 
A  breathless  silence  reigned.      The  blushing  cheek 
Of  the  young  novice  paled,  and  gushing  tears 
Moistened  her  eyelids.     Did  a  thought  of  home, 
Of  father,  mother,  and  the  parted  band 
Of  brothers,  sisters  dear,  wake  in  her  heart 
The  slumbering  chord  of  holiest  affections  ? 
Ah  !  did  she  feel  in  that  stern,  trying  hour, 
How  hard  it  is,  to  coldly  cast  aside 
Those  who  have  loved  us  most ;  to  sever  ties 
By  God  and  Nature  hallowed  and  blest?     Did 
Her  cradle  hymn,  fresh  from  a  mother's  lip. 
Chime  with  the  Anthem ;  or  the  Organ's  tone. 
Wake  the  sweet  memory  of  voices  loved 
In  early  childhood  ?     Ah,  could  we've  withdrawn 
The  secret  veil  which  guarded  thus,  the  heart 
Of  that  fair  girl,  we  might  have  witnessed  there 
The  bitter  struggle  which  her  spirit  felt 
At  yielding  thus,  the  cherished  ties  of  life. 
One  bright  hope  had  armed  her  for  the  conflict. 


THE    BRIDE    OF    HEAVEN.  17 

And  she  must  tear  all  others  from  her  heart, 
E'en  though  it  break.     One  gush  of  weeping  more, 
And  she  could  then  speak  with  unfaltering  voice 
The  expected  vow. 

Silence  more  silent  grew, 
Until  the  very  air  seemed  hushed  and  still. 
"  Hearken,"  at  length  was  said,  in  tones  that  drew 
Their  firmness  from  some  superhuman  source. 
"  Hearken,  oh.  Earth  !  and  Heaven  give  listening 

ear 
To  this,  my  utterance.     I  do  here  renounce 
Henceforth,  forever,  every  mortal  tie. 
E'en  from  this  hour,  I  take  thee.  Saviour  mine. 
To  be  my  all  in  all.     For  love  of  Thee 
I  do  renounce  all  other  loves.     Thy  Cross 
Shall  be  my  talisman,  and  thy  holy  name 
My  chosen  watchword.     That  the  world  may  know 
I  am  no  longer  of  it,  this  black  veil 
Shall  soon  displace  the  snowy  one  I  wear. 
Beneath  its  folds  my  consecrated  face 
Will  be  securely  guarded  from  the  view 
Of  men  ;  and,  as  a  sacred  sign,  'twill  prove 


18  THE    BRIDE    OF   HEAVEN. 

That  I  can  ne'er  admit  another  love, 
Than  that  I  bear  to  Jesus." 

Hark,  a  sigh  ! 
One  deep-drawn  sigh,  and  Rudolph  looked  his  last 
Upon  his  brave  heart's  idol.     She  withdrew 
To  veil  her  love-sealed  features  from  man's  gaze 
Forever.         ****** 
Quickly  the  scene  was  changed,  and  in  her  cell 
Knelt  Genevieve,  a  consecrated  Nun, — 
The  sister  Eulalie. 

No  rich  brocade 
Now  waved  its  silken  folds  about  her  form : 
No  jewel  sparkled  from  her  close-veiled  breast. 
The  coarse  dark  "habit"  was  her  wedding  dress, 
A  silver  cross  her  bridal  ornament. 
Around  her,  freshly  shorn  from  the  young  head, 
Lay  scattered  strands  of  glossy,  raven  hair ; 
And  at  her  feet  the  snowy,  orange  wreath, — 
An  emblem  meet  of  virgin  purity. 
O'er  her  fair  brow  the  sombre  "black  veil"  hung, 
Shading,  e'en  like  a  cloud,  her  youthful  face; 
And  in  low  voice,  she  meekly  counted  o'er 


THE    BRIDE    OF    HEAVEN.  19 

The  mystic  beads,  raising,  anon,  her  eyes 

To  that  bright  Heaven,  for  which  she  had  resigned 

All,  all  the  treasured  hopes  of  earth.     She  asked 

That  no  regret  might  ever  come  to  thwart 

The  solemn  keeping  of  those  holy  vows, 

Her  lips  had  but  just  spoken.     As  the  prayer 

Died  on  her  virgin  tongue,  the  Convent  bell 

Called  her  to  matins ;  and  the  saddened  throng 

Who  came,  as  chosen  witnesses,  to  see 

Those  solemn  nuptial  rites,  heard  the  deep  sound, 

But  as  the  death-knell  of  a  cherished  friend. 

She  only  looked  a  hurried,  last  farewell, 

And  then  withdrew,  leaving  a  mournful  spell 

Of  gloom  upon  us,  as  the  massive  door 

Closed  with  an  echo  deep,  upon  those  loved 

Retiring  footsteps  we  should  hear  no  more. 

A  moment's  pause,  and  clouds  of  incense  rose, 

Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.     Voices  sweet 

Chimed  Avith  the  Organ's  peal,  and  loudly,  all 

Proclaimed  our  Genevieve  the  Bride  of  Heaven. 


20 


THE  PRAYER  OF  FAITH. 

Father  above  ! 
Around  wliose  throne  the  Cherubim  are  kneeling, 
And  Angels  wait,  their  speechless  praise  revealing — 
In  whose  pure  presence  veiled  Seraphs  bend, 
Awed  by  the  light  Thy  dazzling  glories  lend, — 

Hear,  and  remove 
All  blight  of  sin  from  out  a  heart  defiled 
By  dross  and  stain  of  Earth — I  am  thy  child. 

Thou  Light  of  Light ! 
Whose  radiance  fills  the  boundless  sphere  of  Heaven, 
Let  one  blest  ray  unto  my  soul  be  given. 
And  with  its  piercing  radiance  chase  the  gloom 
Which  hangs  where  Hope's  fair  blossoms  fain  would 
bloom. 

Cheer  me  to-night ! 


THE    PRAYER    OF   FAITH.  21 

At  Thj  command  sorrow  and  darkness  flee  ! 
Giver  of  Light,  lift  up  my  soul  to  thee. 

Saviour  divine  I 
On   Calvary's  mount   Thy  sacred  heart  was  an- 
guished, 
Thy  body  bruised,  pierced,  torn  and  bleeding,  lan- 
guished ; 
For  us  Thy  brow,  pressed  by  its  thorny  croAvn, 
Pale  with  its  ^'solemn  agony,"  bowed  down — 

Let  Thy  grace  shine 
In  human  hearts  crushed  now  by  mortal  strife — 
Send  us  Thy  love  to  soothe.  Giver  of  Life  ! 

Spirit  of  Truth  ! 
At  thy  behest  the  doubtful  soul,  and  erring, 
May  lose  its  fears.  Thy  changeless  law  revering. 
And  resting  all  its  wavering  hopes  on  Thee, 
Straight  to  the  guidance  of  Thy  wisdom  flee — 

Bless  Thou  my  youth  ! 
Ere  the  "long  night"  cometh,  seal  with  Thy  love, 
This  heart  I  ofl*er  thee.  Father  above  I 


99 


SONG  OF  THE  MOHNING  SPRITE. 

Lo  !  I  come  with  a  joyous  step  and  free, 

The  sunlight  my  brow  adorning  ; 
Dewy  gems  I  wear  in  my  shining  hair, 

Eor  I  am  the  Sprite  of  Morning. 

When  I  touch  the  Earth  with  my  fairy  wand, 
Lo  !  midnight  and  darkness  vanish, — 

The  bright  stars  grow  pale  and  the  sweet  moon- 
beams fail. 
As  the  Night's  dull  train  I  banish. 

Hope,  murmuring  awhile  in  soft  pensive  tones. 
Her  low  sweet  melodies  humming, 

Breaks  out  in  wild  song  as  I  pass  along. 
And  cheerily  greets  my  coming. 


SONG   OF   THE   MORNING   SPRITE.  23 

The  flowers  impatiently  wait  my  smile, 
As,  down  in  their  green  beds  hidden. 

They  long  for  the  day,  as  a  child  at  play. 
Seeks  a  loving  glance  unbidden. 

And  I  shake  from  their  drowsy  leaves  dull  sleep, 
I  give  to  their  bowed  stalks  lightness  ; 

I  sprinkle  the  dew  on  their  bosoms  too. 
For  they  love  its  shining  brightness. 

The  birds  are  all  glad  when  my  step  draws  near. 
As  out,  from  their  green  boughs  peeping. 

Their  warbles  so  clear,  wake  the  zephyrs  near, 
On  the  breasts  of  the  flowers  sleeping. 

Heaven's  glowing  light  is  the  crown  I  wear, 

No  other  my  gay  brow  beareth  ; 
Its  jewel,  a  Star,  is  more  radiant  far. 

Than  gems  the  proud  monarch  weareth. 

I  laugh  and  I  sport  with  all  joyous  things, 
I  brighten  the  path  of  sadness  ; 


24  SONG   OF   THE   MORNING   SPRITE. 

I  know  I  am  wild,  but  I'm  Nature's  child, 
And  mine  is  a  life  of  gladness. 

Lo  !  I  come  with  a  joyous  step  and  free, 
The  sunlight  my  broAV  adorning  ; 

Dewy  gems  I  wear  in  my  shining  hair. 
For  I  am  the  Sprite  of  Morning. 


25 


LITTLE  THINGS. 

Little  things — aje,  little  things, 
Make  up  the  sum  of  life, — 

A  word,  a  look,  a  single  tone. 
May  lead  to  calm  or  strife. 

A  word  may  part  the  dearest  friends — 

One,  little,  unkind  word, 
Which  in  some  light,  unguarded  hour. 

The  heart  with  anger  stirred. 

A  look  will  sometimes  send  a  pang 

Of  anguish  to  the  heart ; 
A  tone  will  often  cause  the  tear 

In  Sorrow's  eye  to  start. 

One  little  act  of  kindness  done — 
One  little  soft  word  spoken. 


2G  LITTLE   THINGS. 

Ilatli  power  to  wake  a  thrill  of  joy, 
E'en  in  a  heart  that's  broken. 

Then  let  us  watch  these  ''  little  thinr/s,'' 
And  so  respect  each  other, 

That  not  a  word,  or  look,  or  tone, 
May  wound  or  vex  a  brother. 


27 


TIIOU  ART  GONE  TO  THE  GRAVE. 

Tiiou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  its  cold  portals  closed 
o'er  thee, 
While  Hope's  brilliant  star  o'er  thy  pathway  did 
shine  ; 
While  Love's  fairest  flowers  shed  their  fragrance 
around  thee, 
And  Youth's  brightest  treasures,  sweet  sister, 
were  thine. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  its  dark  gloom  is  upon 
thee. 
And  hushed  is  thy  voice,  full  of  kindness  and 
love  ; 
Yet  still  in  my  happiest  dreams  I  behold  thee. 
All  radiant  with  beauty  and  brightness  above. 


28      THOU  ART  GONE  TO  THE  GRAVE. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  with  no  stain  on  thy 
spirit, 

No  shadow  of  sorrow  or  care  on  thy  broAV  ; 
All  sinless  and  pure,  endless  bliss  to  inherit. 

In  life's  early  morn  thy  dear  form  was  laid  low. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  yet  ah,  why  should  I 
mourn  thee  ! 
Sweet  flower,   cut   down  in  thy  freshness   and 
bloom. 
Perhaps  hadst  thou  lingered,  misfortune  had  claimed 
thee. 
Or  sorrow  thrown  o'er  thee  its  withering  gloom. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  and  I  would  not  recall 

thee. 

For  all  that  the  world  gives  of  rapture  or  joy  ; 

Well  I  know  that  the  kind  arms  of  Jesus  enfold 

thee, 

And  pleasures  unceasing  thy  moments  employ. 


29 


THE  MANSION  BY  THE  SEA. 

I  KNOW  a  mansion,  old  and  lone, 

Near  by  a  Sea-girt  shore — 
Its  ivied  towers  are  crumbling  piles, 

Its  turrets  grim  and  hoar. 
And  gaunt  Decay  in  silence  broods 
Forever  o'er  its  solitudes. 

A  lonely  ruin,  vast  and  grand. 
Mould  on  the  sculptured  walls, 

While  moth  and  lizard  trail  and  creep 
Along  the  marbled  halls. 

There,  when  the  Storm-king  shows  his  face, 

The  Curlew  finds  a  hiding-place. 


No  human  forms  are  seen  to  glide 
This  dreary  Mansion  near, 

o 


30  THE   MANSION   BY   THE    SEA. 

And  through  its  aisles  no  voices  ring 

In  music  wikl  and  clear. 
But  day  and  night  the  Ocean  surge 
There  echoes  low,  its  plaintive  dirge. 

Once,  near  the  spot,  at  sunset  hour, 

An  aged  man  I  spied, 
As,  from  the  lonely,  barren  beach, 

I  watched  the  foaming  tide. 
His  form  was  bent,  and  from  his  brow 
The  Sea-breeze  lifted  locks  of  snow. 

Long  hours  I  marked  him,  silent,  gaze 

Upon  yon  crumbling  pile. 
And  down  his  furrowed  cheek  there  rolled, 

A  burning  tear  the  while. 
Ah  !  well  I  knew  that  Mansion  dim 
Waked  mournful  memories  for  him. 

Perhaps  'twas  here  his  boyhood  passed ; 

Perhaps  a  mother  dear 
First  watched  his  timid,  infant  steps 


THE   MANSION    BY   THE    SEA.  31 

And  boyish  beauty  here. 
Or,  it  may  be,  that  here  hath  died 
A  gentle,  loving,  youthful  Bride. 


E'en  as  I  mused,  the  Sun's  last  rays 

Lit  up  that  ruin  old. 
Till  all  its  towers  were  bathed  in  light, 

Its  turrets  crowned  with  gold. 
And  as  the  scene  my  thoughts  beguiled. 
The  old  man  marked  it  too,  and  smiled. 


Ere  long  his  trembling  steps  approached, 

And,  standing  by  my  side. 
He  gazed,  in  silent  awe,  upon 

The  darkly  rolling  tide. 
And  as  a  white  Sail  ploughed  the  main, 
A  tear-drop  dimmed  his  eye  again. 

''They'll  not  come  back  to  me,  ah  !  no," 
He  turned,  at  length,  and  said, 

"  111  not  regain  my  treasures  till 
The  Sea  gives  up  its  Dead." 


32  THE    MANSION    BY   THE    SEA. 

And  to  the  calm,  blue  smiling  sky, 
He,  upward,  raised  his  tearful  eye. 

My  questioning  thoughts  a  look  betrayed, 

And  soon  he  thus  began  : 
"  Long,  weary  years  have  passed  since  there 

I  lived  a  happy  man." 
And  pointing  to  the  Mansion  old, 
A  tale  of  sorrowing  love  he  told. 

"  'TAvas  there  I  lived  in  calm  content. 
For  Heaven  had  smiled  on  me. 

And  loving  eyes,  w^ith  mine,  looked  out 
Upon  the  murmuring  Sea. 

But  while  I  watched  their  tender  light, 

Death  veiled  them  from  my  yearning  sight. 

"  So  perished  from  my  side  my  wife. 

In  youthful  beauty's  bloom. 
And  soon  a  smiling  babe  was  laid  '     " 

Beside  her  in  the  tomb. 
Yet  though  life's  dearest  joy  was  gone. 
My  stricken  heart  must  still  bear  on. 


THE   MANSION   BY   THE   SEA.  33 

"  I  felt  that  nought  could  fill  again 

The  void  which  Death  had  made, 
Yet  still  around  my  lonely  hearth, 

Two  laughing  children  played. 
These  claimed  my  every  thought  and  care. 
My  noble  son  and  daughter  fair. 

^'  They  grew  to  bless  my  fondest  w^ish, 

And  I,  that  they  might  be 
Acquainted  with  my  fatherland. 

Sent  both  across  the  Sea. 
And  from  this  spot  I  watched  the  tide 
Which  bore  my  children  from  my  side." 

He  paused.     "  Where  are  they  now  ?"  I  asked. 

His  answer  was  a  sigh ; 
And  then  he  pointed  to  the  Sea, 

And  upward  to  the  sky. 
''  An  Ocean  grave,"  I,  musing,  said  ; 
The  old  man  bowed  his  hoary  head. 

The  Sea-breeze  sighed  a  requiem  round 
That  dim  old  Mansion  grey. 


34  THE   MANSION   BY   THE   SEA. 

As,  o'er  its  towers  and  turrets  now, 

The  twilight  shadows  lay. 
And  as  I  turned  to  leave  the  strand, 
The  stranger  seized  my  proffered  hand. 

''  They  came  not  back,  in  vain  I  watched 

Each  coming  sail  in  view ; 
The  story  of  their  fate,  alas  ! 

No  mortal  ever  knew. 
No  wreck  was  found — a  fearful  gale 
Was  all  that  told  the  sorrowing  tale. 

"  My  homestead  yonder  now  became 

Intolerable  to  me, — 
I  could  not  bear  a  breeze  or  flower 

That  whispered  of  the  Sea. 
Its  doors  were  closed,  and  I  became 
A  wanderer  in  heart  and  name. 
*         ^         t-         *         *         * 

*'  But  God  is  good,  I  know  ;  and  Heaven 
Not  far  away,"  he  said. 


THE    MANSION   BY   THE    SEA.  35 

''  I  shall  regain  my  treasures  when 

The  Sea  gives  up  its  Dead." 
And  as  I  clasped  his  trembling  hand, 
Our  tears  fell  mino-lino;  on  the  strand. 

Long  years  have  vanished  since  I  heard 

That  old  man's  parting  sigh ; 
Yet  never,  while  my  heart  can  feel 

One  sympathy,  shall  I 
Forget  the  talc  he  told  to  me 
Of  that  old  Mansion  by  the  Sea. 


36 


THE  POOR. 

Have  pitj  on  them,  for  their  days 

Are  cheerless,  cold  and  drear  ; 
And  night,  unwelcomed,  comes  to  them 

With  many  a  grief-born  tear. 
The  scanty  meal,  the  slender  fire, 
Tired  Nature's  unattained  desire  : 
Alas  !  we  know  not  half  the  care, 
The  poor,  the  very  poor  must  bear. 

Speak  kindly  to  them,  do  not  chide, — 
E'en  though  by  sin  and  shame, 

Their  paths  are  darkened  thus ;  yet  oh  ! 
In  pity  do  not  blame. 

His  searching  eye,  who  may  endure. 

To  whom  the  purest  are  not  pure, — 


THE    POOR.  37 

'Tis  His  alone  to  judge,  not  we, — 
Poor  heritors  of  misery. 

Deal  gently  with  them,— fearful  Want 
Hath  filled  their  hearts  with  pain  ; 

Perchance  a  word  may  wake  the  chords 
Of  slumbering  joy  again. 

Oh,  to  their  gall-cup  add  not  more : 

Be  kind,  be  soothing  to  the  poor  ; 

For  whatsoe'er  their  sins  may  be, 

They  still  should  claim  our  sympathy. 

Give  to  them  gladly,  while  thou  hast. 

In  mercy  don't  delay  ; 
When  Fortune  smiles,  turn  not  thy  face 

From  helpless  Want  away. 
Thy  prompt  assistance  yet  may  save 
Some  brother  from  a  huno-ered's  grave : 
^'Riches  have  wings;"  ah  !  wisely  said, — 
You  too  may  beg  your  "  daily  bread." 

4 


38 


DEATH  OF  THE  HEART-FLOWER.* 

'TwAS  a  cheerless  night — the  last  of  Winter  ; 
O'er  the  quiet  town  darkness  now  rested 
Like  a  gloomy  pall.     Not  a  sound  Avas  heard 
Save  when  the  restless  winds  swept  howling  by, 
Eager  for  tempest.     Li  her  lonely  room 
An  anxious  mother  watched  her  suffering  child  ; 
And  oh,  hoAV  fraught  with  earnest  love,  and  pain, 
And  silent  anguish  was  that  mother's  vigil. 
Close  in  its  little  cradle  lay  her  charge, — 
A  babe  of  three  bright  summers.     On  its  cheek 
Health  glowed  but  yesterday,  and  feebly  now 
The  crimson  life-stream  wanders  through  its  veins. 
Anxiously  the  skilled  physicians  watch,  while 
Gentle  nurses  wait  around. 

*  On  the  death  of  Laura,  infant  daughter  of  Dr.  William  S. 
Morriss,  of  Lynchburg. 


DEATH   OF   THE   HEAHT-FLOAVER.  39 

Slumber  seals 
TlxC  sufferer's  eye,  and  hope  springs  up  afresh 
That  morn  will  bring  a  change.        *         *         * 
*****  Fiercely  without 

The  moaning  wind  sighs  a  last  farewell  to 
Winter.     Through  the  distant  sky,  the  threat' ning 
Clouds  roll  on,  and  leave  the  pale,  sweet  moon 
As  clear,  and  calm,  and  bright,  as  if  no  hearts 
Were  breaking  then  beneath  it. 

Hark ! 
The  old  Church  Clock  strikes  twelve.     Winter  has 

gone; 
And  up  from  Nature's  bosom  springs  the  breath 
Of  comins;  violets.     O'er  the  Earth 
A  quiet  stillness  reigns — afar  is  heard 
The  music  flow  of  waters,  but  the  winds 
Arc  hushed  to  silence,  and  the  folded  buds, 
And  birds,  and  flowers,  wake  on  the  breast  of  Spring. 
A  feeble  moan  calls  the  young  mother  now 
Close  to  the  cradle.     Earnestly  she  bends 
To  catch  som^e  symptom  of  returning  health ; 
But  oh !  the  wish  is  vain.     That  brightening  eye 


40  DEATH    OF   THE    HEART-FLOWER. 

Is  but  tlie  spirit  peering  ere  it  takes 
Its  heavenward  fliglit. 

The  feeble  pulse  grows  faint 
And  fainter,  and  around  her  neck  are  twined 
The  little  arms  that  oft,  in  happier  hours 
Have  fondled  her  before.     "  Too  much,  too  much  !" 
Breaks  from  her  lips  in  low  convulsive  sobs, 
While  friends,  physicians,  nurses,  patient  wait 
For  Death  to  claim  his  own.     Ah,  how  could  she 
Yield  silently  her  treasure  to  his  cold, 
Freezing  arms  ?     The  heart  so  worn  with  watching 
And  with  hope  deferred,  is  breaking  now ;  and, 
Struggling  with  despair,  at  length  pours  forth 
Its  tide  of  pent-up  anguish  in  one  wild, 
Piteous  wail. 

''  How  can  I  give  thee  up. 
Oh,  child  of  many  hopes  and  fondest  love  ? 

Father,  remove  this  cup 
And  send  some  other  test  my  strength  to  prove. 

So  lovely,  gentle,  mild, — 
Laura,  thy  smihng  beauty  haunts  me  now, 

Sinless  and  undefiled ! 


DEATH    OF    THE    HEART-FLOWER.  41 

Oh,  must  I  see  thy  form  in  death  laid  low  ? 

Thy  voice, — its  music  tone. 
Kings  through  my  ear  in  merry  accents  wild ; 

How  desolate  and  lone 
Must  be  our  hearth  without  thee,  angel  child  ? 

Stay,  stay  thy  blow,  stern  Death ! — 
One  moment  let  me  gaze  in  that  dear  eye. 

And  feel  as-ain  the  breath, 
That  fanned  my  throbbing  breast  in  days  gone  by." 

Alas  !  too  late. 

No  smile  of  love,  no  look 
Of  recognition  met  her  gaze.     Feebly 
The  little  arms  slacken  their  hold.     A  sigh, 
A  restless  stir,  and  then  a  quivering 
Of  the  stricken  frame,  and  all  is  over. 
Her  heart-flower  had  perished  with  the  morning 
dawn 


Of  Spring. 


4* 


42 


EULALIE. 

EuLALiE,  when  first  I  saw  thee, 

Thy  young  heart  Avas  blithe  and  free, 
And  the  charm  of  youthful  beauty, 

Threw  its  radiance  over  thee. 
Thou  wert  in  the  Convent  Garden ; 

I  recall  the  moment  well ; 
'Twas  when  o'er  the  fragrant  blossoms, 

Twilight's  dewy  shadows  fell. 
By  thy  side,  were  Nuns  repeating 

Vespers  to  the  Virgin  mild  : 
"  Holy  mother,  guard,  protect  her. 

Save  from  sin  our  Novice  child." 
And  I  gazed  on  thee  and  wondered 

If  thy  heart  knew  nought  of  care, 
And  if  blighted  human  passion 

Left  no  farewell  shadow  there.' 


EULALIE.  43 

Then  I  watched  a  bright  smile  phiying 

In  thy  beaming  eye  again, 
And  I  felt  that  life  had  spared  thee, 

All  its  bitterness  and  pain. 
Thou  "wert  like  a  wild  flower  growing 

On  some  lonely  river's  brink, — 
Waiting  only  for  the  tempest 

In  its  silent  waves  to  sink. 
Months  rolled  on,  I  learned  to  love  thee, 

With  devoted,  earnest  love  ; 
Thou  wert  all  my  dreams  had  pictured 

Of  the  ''  pure  in  heart"  above. 
I  have  sat  for  hours  and  listened 

To  the  music  of  thy  voice ; 
And  thy  very  name,  thy  footstep. 

Made  my  youthful  heart  rejoice. 
Oft  I'd  paint  the  distant  future, — 

Thou  wert  e'er  its  day-star  bright ; 
And  thy  cherished  form  was  near  me. 

In  each  holy  dream  at  night. 
Till  at  length  life's  early  sorrow. 

In  my  spirit's  depth  found  place. 


44  EULALIE. 

When  I  saw  the  sombre  "black  veil" 

Shade  thy  young  and  happy  face. 
And  I  heard  thy  own  lips  utter, 

In  their  low,  sweet  music  tone  : 
"  Hearken,  friends,  henceforth  I  sever 

Human  ties  for  God  alone." 
Then  they  threw  a  black  pall  o'er  thee : 

"  To  the  world  thou'rt  dead,"  they  said; 
And  they  clipped  the  raven  tresses. 

From  thy  meekly-bending  head. 


Eulalie,  we  noAV  are  parted — 

I  am  still  thy  faithful  friend ; 
We  are  parted,  yet  affection 

With  my  life  alone  can  end. 
I  recall  with  fond  emotion 

Every  stern  and  holy  truth, 
Which  thy  lips  have  ever  taught  me. 

Gentle  Guardian  of  my  youth. 
And  I  ponder  oft  the  lessons 

That  I  used  to  learn  of  thee  ; 


EULALIE.  45 

Whilst  methinks  I  hear  thee  utter, 

With  a  blessing,  prayers  for  me. 
But  our  lots  are  cast  asunder. 

And  our  paths  are  severed  wide ; 
Thy  duties  shun  the  world's  rough  Sea,  • 

Mine  bear  me  with  the  tide. 
Yet  though  perhaps  on  earth  again 

Thy  face  I  ne'er  may  see. 
My  soul,  through  life,  will  fondly  nurse 

Thy  memory,  Eulalie. 


46 


TO  SPRING. 

Once  more  we  gladly  greet  thee,  joyous  Spring — 
Clothed  in  thy  dew-gemmed  robe  of  rainbow  dye ; 

The  smiling  Earth,  the  flowing  streams,  the  flowers, 
All  welcome  with  delight  thy  genial  sky. 

And  we,  who've  sighed  for  Summer  sunshine  long — 
We  too  unite  with  bird,  and  brook,  and  bee, 

To  hail  the  music  whispers  of  the  winds — 
Glad  Nature's  melodies  that  tell  of  thee. 

Long  have  we  shivered  'neath  the  Snow-king's 
breath. 

And  mourned  the  blight  of  dreary  Winter's  reign ; 
Now  warmed  to  light  by  thy  soft,  winsome  touch — 

The  violets  leave  their  frozen  beds  again. 


TO    SPRING.  47 

And  ice-bound  rivulets  flow,  sparkling  on 

Through  flowery  meadows  bathed  in  dewy  light ; 

And  birds  are  busy  in  the  forest  bowers — 
Wooing  lost  mates  to  join  their  airy  flight. 

Already  flies  the  summer  Oriole  near, 

Seeking  the  sheltering  bough,  from  which  to  swing 
The  oval  nest,  wherein,  secure,  her  young 

May  bide  all  storm,  hid  'neath  her  cosy  wing. 

And,  here  and  there,  in  sunny  places  gleam 
The  sweet  Forget-Me-Nots  from  mossy  dells ; 

While  golden  Buttercups  their  welcomes  breathe 
By  lifting  to  thy  glance  their  dewy  bells. 

What  glories  waken  as  thy  steps  draw  near. 
What  joy  thou  bearest  on  thy  gladsome  wing ; 

Hope  blooms  afresh,  health  follows  in  thy  train — 
A  radiance  lights  thy  shining  pathway,  Spring ! 


48  .      TO    SPRING. 

Then  once  again  we  gladly  greet  thy  smile, 
Bathing  in  rosy  light  the  dewy  morn ; 

On  human  hearts  by  Sorrow's  Avinter  seared, 
Thou  shedd'st,  of  prayerful  hope,  a  brightening 
dawn. 


49 


A  DIRGE  FOR  LAURA. 

Lay  her  beneath  the  willoAV, 
Let  soft  violets  be  her  pillow ; 
Far,  fiir  from  the  Ocean  billow 
Let  the  young  and  lovely  rest. 

Cover  her  grave  with  flowers  ; 
And  in  Summer's  golden  hours 
Let  the  gentle  evening  showers 
Fall  above  her  silent  breast. 

Be  not  sad  or  broken-hearted, 
That  the  loved  one  hath  departed. 
For  no  cloud  of  sin  e'er  darted 
Thwart  her  life's  unsullied  sky. 
5 


50 


A    DIRGE    FOR    LAURA. 


Therefore  cease,  fond  mother,  cease  your  weepino-, 
Her  pure  soul  is  in  God's  keeping ; 
And  her  little  form  is  sleeping 
In  the  still  earth  peacefully. 


51 


THE  FLOWERS  HAVE  COME. 

The  flowers  have  come — from  its  mossy  bed 

The  Violet  lifts  up  its  modest  head  ; 

The  Daisy,  too — poor  shy  little  thing, 

Has  opened  its  bright  eyes  to  welcome  the  Spring. 

The  flowers  have  come — for  the  soft  perfume 
Of  the  Wallflower  sweet,  and  the  Rose's  bloom 
Is  borne  on  the  wing  of  the  mild  South  breeze, 
As  it  lovingly  plays  through  the  leafy  trees. 

The  flowers  have  come — near  the  garden  walk 
The  proud  Lily  raises  its  queenly  stalk ; 
The  Buttercup  opens  its  golden  bell. 
To  take  in  the  sunbeams  it  loves  so  w^ell. 

The  flowers  have  come — see,  the  red  Woodbine 
Wreathes  its  verdant  leaves  with  the  Jessamine  vine ; 


52  THE   FLOWERS   HAVE   COME. 

The  Humming-bird,  lured  by  the  sweet  perfume, 
Sips  joy  all  day  from  its  honeyed  bloom. 

The  flowers  have  come — I  have  seen  the  Bee 
Now  kiss  the  bright  clover  that  blooms  in  the  lea, 
Then  buzzing  away,  like  a  heartless  coquette, 
Woo  the  very  next  innocent  blossom  he  met. 

The  flowers  have  come — on  the  river's  brink 

The  Daffodils  cunningly  nod  and  wink 

To  the  ripples  that  sportively  trifle  all  day. 

With  the  blossoms  that  spring  in  their  pebbly  way. 

The  flowers  have  come — lo  !  the  Crocus  too, 
With  its  leaves  of  purple,  and  white,  and  blue, 
Looks  up  from  its  home  with  the  Cowslip  sweet, 
The  smile  of  its  mother,  the  Spring,  to  greet. 

The  flowers  have  come — even  now  I  feel 

Their  fragrant  breath  o'er  my  senses  steal; 

Lifting  my  heart,  in  its  happiest  hours. 

To  Him  who  has  brightened  life's  path  with  flowers. 


.03 


LINES 

ON    THE   DEATH    OF   MRS   G.    S.    MEEM. 

"  Oh  !  for  the  world  where  thy  home  is  now. 
How  may  we  love — but  in  doubt  and  fear, 
How  may  we  anchor  our  fond  hearts  here. 
How  should  e'en  joy,  but  a  trembler  be. 
Beautiful  dust,  when  we  look  on  thee  I" 

Uemans. 

Ah,  brief  indeed  was  life's  fair  dream, 

Sweet  Friend,  to  thee  ! 
How  "passing  strange"  and  sad  doth  seem 

Thy  destiny. 

Two  fleeting  months — and  thou  didst  stand, 

A  timid  Bride ; 
And  he  who  claimed  thy  "heart  and  hand,'' 

Stood  by  thy  side. 


54  LINES. 

"With  rapt'rous  ear  he  heard  thee  breathe 

Love's  fervent  vow, 
And  saw  the  Orange  blossoms  wreathe 

Thy  queenly  brow. 

What  blissful  joy  then  did  light 

His  loving  eye. 
Ah !  little  thought  he,  one  so  bright 

Could  surely  die. 

Too  true,  alas  !  the  grave's  cold  breath 

Is  on  thee  now  ; 
No  more  the  beauteous  "bridal  wreath" 

Bedecks  thy  brow. 

Fond  hearts  that  loved  thee,  now  are  sad, 

And  sigh  in  vain  ; 
For  thy  dear  smile  to  cheer  and  glad 

Their  home  again. 

They  who  around  thy  couch  of  pain 
Did  watch  and  weep. 


LINES.  55 

Mourn  now,  that  nought  shall  break  again 
Thy  dreamless  sleep. 

She  too,  who  soothed  with  gentle  hand 

Thy  burning  brow, 
Sees  noAV  the  fairest  of  her  band 

In  death  laid  low. 

Ah,  little  reck'st  thou  of  the  tears 

Thus  vainly  shed  ; 
For  hushed  arc  all  thy  trembling  fears, 

Thou  sinless  dead. 

Blest,  happy  spirit — thou  dost  roam 

In  realms  of  light ; 
And  to  thy  distant,  radiant  home, 

Shall  come  no  blight. 

No  withering  flowers  there  shall  bind 

Thy  gentle  brow  : 
A  fadeless  wreath,  by  Angels  twined, 

Adorns  thee  now. 


n 


G  LINES. 

The  joys  that  crown  that  life  above, 

Ah,  who  can  tell ! — 
He  calls  thee  hence  whose  name  is  Love,- 

Dear  one — farewell ! 


57 


THE  SUMMER  RAIX. 

"Waking  gales  that  slumbered  long 

In  the  woodland  bowers, 
Flinging  odors  on  the  air 
•  From  a  thousand  flowers  ; 
Knocking  with  a  gentle  tap 

'Gainst  my  window  pane, 
'Mid  the  sultry  glare  of  noon. 

Comes  the  Summer  Rain. 

Glittering  showers  from  rainbow  skies, 

Sparkling  drops  so  bright, 
Coming  with  a  pattering  step. 

Fill  us  with  delight ; 
Little  flowerets,  drooping  long. 

Lift  their  heads  again  ; 


68  THE   SUMMER   RAIN. 

Little  rills  with  merry  song, 
Hail  the  Summer  Rain. 

Bird  and  bee  with  folded  wing 

Watch  the  cooling  showers, 
From  their  hiding-places  sweet, 

'Mong  the  smiling  flowers  ; 
Nature's  welcom^-chorus  glad, 

Echoes  o'er  the  plain  ; 
Blooming  fields  of  waving  corn 

Laugh  and  sing  again. 

From  the  ground  a  thousand  sweets 

Gratefully  arise, 
Through  the  air  a  perfumed  breath 

AVafting  to  the  skies  ; 
Flocks  and  herds  delighted  stand. 

Verdure  decks  the  plain  ; 
Earth,  rejoicing,  claps  her  hands, — 

Lo  !   the  Summer  Rain. 


59 


THERE'S  A  CLOUD  ON  MY  SPIRIT. 

There's  a  cloud  on  my  spirit, 

A  gloom  in  my  heart ; 
A  shadow,  a  something, 

That  will  not  depart. 
I've  struggled  in  vain,  love  ! 

To  drive  off  the  spell. 
Which  fain  the  heart's  music 

With  murmurs  would  quell. 
I've  gazed  from  my  window, 

This  beautiful  day, 
And  clouds  dim  the  landscape, 

Before  me  alway. 
I  know  'tis  not  Autumn, 

E'en  now  in  the  bowers, 
I  hear  the  birds  singing 

Of  Spring  to  the  flowers. 


60         there's  a  cloud  on  my  spirit. 


Si, 


The  clover  is  nodding 

Its  head  to  the  bee, 
As  zephyrs  approach  it, 

Far  off  in  the  lea. 
The  sunlight  is  gleaming 

Through  green  forest  woods, 
Yet  darkening  the  picture 

A  dim  shadow  broods. 
All  glad  things  are  around  me, 

And  whispering  nigh ; 
Yet,  yet  I  am  lonely. 

And  cannot  tell  why. 
What  is  it  that  hides  thus 

The  sunshine  of  life, 
And  stills  the  heart's  music 

With  melody  rife  ? 
It  cannot  be  Winter, 

For  now  in  the  bowers. 
The  birds  are  all  singing 

Of  Spring  to  the  flowers. 
I'll  ask  them  the  secret, 

Perhaps  they  can  tell, 


there's  a  cloud  on  my  spirit.  CI 

Why  broods  o'er  mj  spirit 

This  shadowy  spell  ? 
The  question  propounded, 

Thej  laugh  at  me,  dear  ; 
While  mj  heart  gives  the  answer 

That  ^oii  are  not  here  ! 


62 


MUSINGS  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  A  YOUNG 

SISTER.* 

Beneath  this  sod  thou'rt  lowlj  laid,  oli,  cherished 

one  and  dear — 
Thou,  at  whose  name  Affection  gives  to  Memory's 

claim — a  tear. 
Long  years,  long,  weary  years  have  passed,  since 

last  we  looked  on  thee. 
And  yet  to-day  blooms  fresh  as  then,  thy  fadeless 

memory. 
The  lonelv  void  which  thou  hast  left,  no  other  form 

may  fill, 
Within  our  hearts,  as  in  our  home,  thy  place  is 

sacred  still. 
I  look  around, — but  yesterday  it  seems,  since  glad 

and  gay, 

*  Who  died,  a  school-girl,    at  the  Academy  of  the  Visitation, 
Georgetown,  D.  C,  Sept.  9th,  1846. 


MUSINGS.  63 

Thy  smile  shone  brightest  in  our  midst, — a  sun- 
beam in  our  way. 

Oh,  Avhen  life's  pathway  seemed  so  bright — Hope's 
prophesy  so  fair, 

Why  did  Death  shade  thy  gentle  brow, — why  place 
his  signet  there? 

And  while  Affection's  glowing  font  so  fondly  gushed 
for  thee, 

Why  did'st  thou  leave  us,  birdling  bright,  away 
from  earth  to  flee  ? 

Far,  far  in  childhood's  sunny  home,  wxrc  loving 
hearts  that  yearned 

To  clasp  thee,  darling,  but  to  them  thy  step  no  more 
returned. 

I  saw  the  rose  fade  from  thy  cheek,  sweet,  laughter- 
loving  child, — 

For   months    I    watched    thy    drooping   eye, — its 
brightness  strange  and  Avild. 

And  sometimes  there  would  come  the  thought  (but 
oh,  how  could  it  be 

Long  harbored  in  a  breast  so  full  of  earnest  love 
and  thee  ?) 


6-4  MUSINGS. 

That  thou  "wcrt  fading,  day  by  day — Disease  with 

blighting  breatli, — 
A  withering  simoon,  bowing  thee  to  an  untimely 

death. 
Then   all   thy   blooming   loveliness,   thy  beauty's 

matchless  spell, 
"Would  drive  from  my  too  blinded  heart  the  fears 

I  dared  not  tell. 
And  though  the  "hectic"  on  thy  cheek,  its  pale- 
ness seemed  to  share, 
I  dreamed  not  Death's  cold  dart  would  aim  at  one 

so  strangely  fair. 
At  length  upon  a  couch  of  pain,  I  watched  thee 

patient  wait 
The  message  that  must  summon  thee  beyond  the 

eternal  gate. 
No  dark  despair,  no  doubt,  no  fear,  thy  peaceful 

bosom  stirred, — 
"I've  left  my  home  to  die,"  was  said  without  one 

murmuring  word. 
An  Angel's  arms  Avcre  round  thee  then, — I  knew 

it  by  the  smile 


MUSINGS.  60 

Of  heavenly  hope  that  beamed  upon  thy  suffering 
face  the  Avhile. 

Yes,  holy  angels  waited  near,  impatiently,  to  bear 

Thy  soul  to  that  far,  radiant  land,  where  endless 
pleasures  are. 

I  knew  that  thou  wert  dying,  yet  alas !  I  could  not 
save. 

E'en  by  my  heart's  deep  anguish,  our  briglit  Star- 
ling from  the  grave. 

But  ah!  since  to  the  "pure  in  heart"  Death  brings 
no  bitter  sting, 

Why  shouldst  thou  fear  to  sleep  beneath  the  Ever- 
lasting wing. 

One  look,  one  farewell  glance  on  us,  who  wept 
around  thy  bed. 

And  then,  on  viewless  pinions  borne,  thy  gentle 
spirit  fled. 

I   saw  the  form   I  fondly  loved  wrapped  in   the 

"  winding  sheet ;" 
I  called, — those  lips  would  part  no  more,  Aftcc- 

tion's  voice  to  greet. 


66  MUSINGS. 

They  laid  thee  in  thy  girlhood's  bloom,  our  young- 
est, fairest,  best, 
With  all  thy  maiden  loveliness,  low,  in  the  grave's 

cold  breast. 
That  mournful  scene,  oh,  Memory,  hide,  I  dare  not 

dwell  too  long, — 
It  wakes  within  my  heart  a  chord  of  anguish  wild 

and  strong. 
Methinks  I  see  thee,  sister  mine,  as  then,  a  lifeless 

mould. 
Thy  wasted   hands   crossed   on   thy   breast, — thy 

forehead  pale  and  cold. 
But  ah,  a  brighter  vision  dawns,  by  Faith  in  mercy 

given  ; 
I  gaze,  and  lo !  thou  com'st  to  me,  an  angel  bright 

from  Heaven ! 
I  know  thy  sinless  soul  is  free,  and  ne'er  again 

shall  pine. 
Yet  oh,  forget  not  those  whose  hearts  in  life  were 

linked  with  thine. 
Still  hover  near  his  bending  form,  and  soothe  his 

grief-worn  brow, 


MUSINGS.  67 

Whose  father-love  through  long,  long  years,  doth 

claim  remembrance  now  ; 
And  we,  the  still  remaining  two,  who  miss  thee  from 

our  side, 
"Whenever  morning's  splendor  shines,  or  evening's 

shadows  glide. 
Eemember  us  in  that  bright  land  where  sainted 

spirits  stray. 
And   to   those   blissful   realms    above,  oh,  gently 

point  the  way. 
Be   near,  our   guardian   angel   still,  when   luring 

snares  beguile. 
In  health  and  sickness,  life  and  death,  be  near  us 

all  the  while. 
And  when  at  last  we,  too,  shall  sleep  within  the 

grave's  dark  breast. 
Oh,  may  our  souls  like  thine  awake  in  realms  of 

endless  rest. 
Now,  fare  thee  well ;  thy  cherished  form  lies  cold 

beneath  this  sod. 
Yet  well  I  know  thy  spirit  pure  rejoices  with  its 

God. 


G8 


INVOCATION. 

Tell  me,  ye  Stars  of  night, 

Is  there  beyond  your  burning  orbs  of  light 

A  home — a  licaven  ; 
Where  spirits  of  the  just,  tlie  pure,  tlie  blest. 
Arc  sheltered  from  all  storms  in  realms  of  rest. 

Where  peace  is  given  ? 

To  that  far  -world  of  Idiss, 

That  realm  of  light,  can  all  the  woes  of  this 

No  shadows  bring  ? 
Flows  there  a  Lethean  stream  whose  silent  wave 
Once  sipped  by  the  departed,  e'er  will  save 

From  Memory's  sting  ? 

Do  flowers  ne'er  fade  and  die 
In  that  bright  land,  and  in  each  pathway  lie, 
Stripped  of  their  bloom  ? 


INVOCATION.  60 

Comes  there  no  Autumn,  with  its  chilling  breath, 
To  stamp  them  with  the  livid  hues  of  death — 
No  "Winter's  gloom  ? 

Do  angels,  too,  dwell  there, 

And  tones  of  seraph  voices  fill  the  air 

With  music  sweet  ? 
And  do  the  saints,  God's  faithful  children  here, 
llest  from  their  toils  in  that  heavenly  sphere — 

Their  joy  complete? 

'Mid  that  celestial  host 

May  they  be  found,  the  loved  and  early  lost, 

Whom  we've  mourned  so  long  ; 
And  at  the  evening  hour  when  smiles  and  mirth 
Have  met  in  gladness  round  the  social  hearth 

Missed  from  our  throng  ? 

Are  there  no  farewells  spoken. 
No  bright  eyes  dimmed  with  tears,  no  fond  heart 
broken 
On  that  blest  shore  ? 


TO  INVOCATIOX. 

But  do  the  severed  links  of  Friendship's  chain 
Meet  there  in  gladness  and  unite  again 
Bright  as  before  ? 

Oh,  give  me  Faith's  glad  wings, 

That  I  may  soar  above  terrestrial  things, 

To  realms  on  high  ; 
Where  they  have  gone  whom  I  have  loved  so  well. 
And  where,  wlien  life  is  o'er,  I  too,  may  dwell 

Eternally. 


71 


TO  LITTLE  EMILY. 

God's  blessing  on  thee,  darling, 
Through  thy  life,  as  it  rests  now, 

In  the  heavenly  expression 
Of  thy  little  baby  brow. 

What  a  world  of  teeming  glories 
Now  has  burst  upon  thy  sight, 

With  its  thousand  varied  beauties, 
And  its  fields  all  bathed  in  light. 

How  I  love  to  watch  thy  features 

As  thy  brightly  beaming  eye 
Gazes  up,  as  if  in  wonder. 
At  the  splendor  of  the  sky. 


72  TO    LITTLE    EMILY. 

A  J,  and  then,  as  though  applauding 
All  thy  Maker's  skill  the  while, 

Soon  I  see  the  sweet  lips  parting 
In  a  merry  baby  smile. 

Listen,  hark  ! — why  start  enchanted? 

It  was  but  a  joyous  bird. 
Whose  gay  song  among  the  leafy  trees 

In  gladsome  notes  you  heard. 

Look,  see  there  ! — on  lightning  pinion 
He  is  darting  through  the  air ; 

Ah,  how  bright  his  warbling  spirit 
And  his  downy  feathers  are. 

What  are  all  thy  thoughts,  my  darling, 
Of  this  lovely  world  of  ours, — 

Seems  it  bright  to  thy  young  spirit, 
Newly  strayed  from  Eden  bowers  ? 

Yes,  I  know  it  by  the  gladness, 
To  thy  heart  and  features  given, 


TO    LITTLE    EMILY.  73 

That  a  something  lingers  round  thee 
Of  the  radiance  of  Heaven. 

Oh,  may  future  years  bring  to  thee 
Nought  to  mar  thy  soul's  delight ;  - 

May  Time  hold  for  thee,  fair  cherub, 
No  dark,  distant,  coming  blight. 

But  be  all  thy  life  as  joyous 

As  the  gushing  song  of  bird. 
And  thy  spirit's  wave  be  never 

By  Sin's  dark'ning  ripples  stirred. 

That  when  Death  draws  near  to  claim  thee. 
He  may  wear  an  Angel's  face, 

And  the  grave,  to  thee,  be  only 
But  a  blessed  resting-place. 


74 


A  FAREWELL  TO  THE  DYING  YEAR. 

Good-bye,  Old  Year  !   I  take  tliy  hand  in  sadness, 

And  gaze  all  tearfully  along  the  Past, — 
When  I  did  welcome  thee  with  smiles  and  gladness. 

And  golden  hopes  too  wdldly  dear  to  last ; 
When,    through    Time's    mystic    veil,    in   wisdom 
shading 

The  unseen  Future's  dim  uncertain  maze, 
With   Y^outh's   bright    prophet-dreams   my  vision 
lading, 

I  strove,  in  restless  eagerness,  to  gaze. 

And  as  I  caught  that  future's  faint  revealing. 
Breaking  upon  my  heart  with  shadow^y  spell ; 

And  felt  the  gloom  of  disappointment  stealing 
O'er  dreams  ray  foolish  heart  had  nursed  too  well ; 


A  FAREWELL  TO  THE  DYING  YEAR.     75 

Ah,  then  I  marvelled  that  Earth's  transient  glories 
Could  thus  allure  the  soul's  immortal  trust ; 

And  I  did  learn  that  Pleasure's  siren  stories 
Are  gilded  legends  gathered  from  the  dust. 

Yet  I've  no  harsh  reproach,  no  vain  complaining 

To  weave  with  this,  mj  parting  lay  to  thee, 
For  thou  hast  mingled  joys,  bright  and  unfeigning, 

In  every  cup  thy  hand  hath  proffered  me  ; 
And  though,  at  times,  the  "bitter"  I  have  tasted. 

Till  all  my  soul  seemed  poisoned  by  its  gall, 
Yet  I  have  felt  these  lessons  were  not  wasted — 

Some  prayer,  unsaid  before,  hath  followed  all. 

And  now  I  kneel,  to  bless,  not  to  upbraid  thee. 
That   thou   hast    wisely  scattered    thorns   with 
flowers ; 
Since,  varying  thus  my  pathway,  thou  hast  made  me 
Look  upward  yearningly  to  Heaven's  changeless 
bowers. 
There,  Joy's  ecstatic  season  is  not  measured 
By  Time's  swift-failing  sands  so  quickly  run; 


76  A   FAREWELL   TO   THE   DYING   YEAR. 

But,  in  Eternity's  deep  bosom  treasured, 

Our  days,  and  months,  and  moments,  all  are  one. 

And  I  would  tliank  tliee  too,  witli  fond  emotion. 

That  from  her  grave,  whose  eyes  thy  hand  did'st 
close. 
There  comes  to  me  a  voice  of  sweet  devotion. 

For  faith  which  placed  on  Heaven  its  high  re- 
pose— 
That  thus  I  learn,  from  lips  now  sealed  forever. 

Whose  prayerful  tones  fell  on  my  childhood's  ear. 
That  all  in  vain  my  spirit's  wild  endeavor 

For  lasting  joy,  while  darkly  w^andering  here. 

And  for  those  household  bands  thou  leavest  un- 
broken, 

In  their  deep,  tender  sympathies,  how  dear, — 
That,  kindly  yet  the  mandate  is  unspoken. 

Which  bids  them  part,  I  bless  thee,  Dying  Year. 
Now,  with  full  heart,  my  inmost  bosom  swelling. 

And  holy  thoughts  I  may  not  pause  to  tell. 
And  gushing  tears  from  Memory's  fountain  welling, 

I  breathe  again.  Old  Year,  my  last  farewell. 


77 


TO  A  CROSS. 

"In  hoc  signo  spes  mea." 

Emblem  of  love  (livino  ! 
Thou  spcak'st  to  me  of  Calvary's  holy  hill, 
Where  Jesus,  bowing  to  his  Father's  will, 

Yielded  his  life  for  mine. 

What  pain,  what  agony, 
O'erwhelmed  his  spirit  in  that  fearful  hour. 
When  love,  subduing  every  sterner  power, 

Bled  for  humanity. 

Nature's  offended  eye 
Would  not  behold  him  of  each  friend  bereft. 
And  on  that  drear  and  lonely  mountain  left 

To  suffer,  groan,  and  die. 


78  TO   A   CROSS. 

The  Temple's  veil  was  rent, 
The  glorious  Sun  withdrew  his  cheering  light, 
And  earth  was  sunk  in  universal  night, — 

Man  lost  in  wonderment. 

One  true  heart  scorned  him  not ; 
When  in  all  other  bosoms  pity  slept, 
Mary,  his  mother,  sat  her  down  and  wept 

O'er  his  forsaken  lot. 

So  may  I,  Saviour,  cling 
In  every  trial  to  thy  bleeding  side. 
And  in  thy  wounds  my  weeping  spirit  hide 

From  stern  Despair's  dark  sting. 

Teach  me  this  truth  profound, 
And  let  my  heart  the  useful  lesson  know. 
That  in  this  dim  and  tearful  vale  below, 

Happiness  is  not  found. 

But  by  thy  Cross  and  love. 
Oh  !  may  I  learn  to  purify  from  sin 
Each  in  Avar  d  feeling,  that  my  soul  may  win 

A  crown  of  bliss  above. 


79 


THE  MANIAC  GIRL. 

(from  a  scene  in  a  lunatic  asylum.) 

She  wept  in  anguish,  clasped  her  hands,  and  madly 

tore  her  hair. 
And  thus,  in  accents  strange  and  wild,  she  raved 

in  her  despair  : 
"  Oh  God !    remove  this   iron  weight   that   hangs 

about  my  heart. 
Speak,  Thou  Almiglity,  speak,  and  bid  this  raven 

form  depart. 
I  cannot  live, — yet  dare  not  die  by  my  own  feeble 

hand : 
Against  the  act  Thy  word   hath   fixed  a  fearful, 

dark  command. 
I  dare  not  take  what  Thou  hast  given,  and  yet,  my 

God,  I  crave 
The  unbroken  peace,  the  silence  deep,  the  oblivion 

of  the  grave. 


80  THE    MANIAC    GIRL. 

The  grave — oblivion — ha  !   ha  !  ha  ! — a  wiser  one 

hath  said 
Dark  dreams  may  come,  there  may  not  be  oblivion 

for  the  dead. 
If  so,  and  I  should  sip  to-day  a  draught  of  Death's 

cold  wine. 
What   dreams   of  dark   and   dread   despair,   what 

visions  would  be  mine  ! 
These    crushing   memories,  would    they  come    to 

haunt  me  in  the  grave? 
My  broken  hopes — his  trifling  !     Oh !  one  draught 

from  Lethe's  w^ave." 

«l^  «i^  -mif  «dir  ik^  ^Lr  ^If  ^AjT 

*T«  *7*  *|*  #7*  *J^  *|»  ^^  ^|t 

"  It  may  not  be  ;  I  must  bear  on,  despite  this  anguish 

wild. 
Father,  tlicn   hear  with   pitying   ear,  the  heart's 

prayer  of  Thy  child. 
Take  from  me  every  murmuring  thought,  and,  if  it 

be  Thy  will 
To  chasten  thus,  then  let  these  ghastly  phantoms 

haunt  me  still. 
It  may  be,  when  all  others  fail,  I'll  learn  to  lean  on 

Thee, 


THE   MANIAC    GIRL.  81 

Since  Thou  alone  canst  fill  the  heart,  who  fill'st 
immensity  ! 

Thou,  only  Thou,  canst  say  to  grief's  wild  passion- 
storm,  ^Be  still!' 

And  Thou  alone  canst  soothe  the  spirit's  anguish 
at  Thy  will. 

Hear  me.  Oh  !  God,  my  Father  !  take  this  weight 
from  off  my  heart. 

Or  bid  all  restless,  murmuring  thoughts  forever  to 

depart." 

******** 

The  prayer  went  up  through   Mercy's  gate,  low 

bows  the  youthful  head, — 
A  calm  smile  lights  the  pale,  sweet  face — the  maniac 

girl  is  dead. 


TO  A  MINIATURE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Yes,  sister  dear,  this  is  thine  image  own ; 
This  glad  smile  thy  joyous  heart's  expression. 
Fondly  I  love  to  gaze,  e'en  though  through  tears, 
Upon  each  feature,  and  in  each  to  trace 
The  sinless  beauty  of  an  Angel  face. 
And  can  it  be,  beloved,  that  thou  art  dead  ? 
That  on  that  brow,  so  pure  and  beautiful. 
Death's  seal  is  resting  now  ?  that  those  soft  eyes 
No  more  will  open  on  Life's  glorious  things? 
Those  laughing  lips  ne'er  part  to  speak  to  me  ? 
Oh !  sister  mine,  tell  me  what  radiant  spliere 
Contains  thy  spirit?     In  its  holy  clime. 
Dost  thou  retain  aught  of  the  love  of  earth  ? 
Am  I  now  less  thine  own,  because  I  tread 
These  darkened  pathways  still,  which  thou  hast  left  ? 
Or  dost  thou  backward  gaze  o'er  life's  dim  track, 


TO   A   MINIATURE   OF   THE   DEAD.  83 

And,  mid  the  glories  of  that  brighter  world, 
Pity  the  woes  of  this  ? 

Ah,  well  I  know 
That  in  the  mansions  of  the  "pure  in  heart" 
Thou  hast  a  place ;   and  when  I  look  around 
On  all  the  evil  which  surrounds  us  here, 
I  thank  my  God  that  thou,  so  long,  sweet  dove, 
Hast  folded  thy  glad  wings  in  Paradise. 


81 


HAESII  WORDS. 

Air — '* Kind  words  can  never  die.'''' 

Harsh  words  can  never  die  ; 

Deeply  they  rest, 
In  all  their  rankling  power, 

Down  in  the  breast. 
What  though  one  may  forgive, 

And  all  regret  be  met 
With  kind  response  ?     Alas  ! 

None  can  forget. 

Harsh  Avords  will  darkly  rise 

In  happiest  hours. 
Rank  thorns  in  Memory's  path. 

Crushing  the  flowers  ; 
Rank  weeds,  whose  poisonous  breath 

Mildew  and  blisrht  unfold. 


IIARSn  WORDS.  85 

"Wasting  the  heart  like  Death, 
Chilling  and  cold. 

Harsh  words,  once  spoken,  stand, — 

Tear  drops  that  fall 
On  Ocean's  rolling  waves, 

Who  can  recall? 
So  by  unkindness  moved. 

Deeply  the  heart  must  feel 
Wounds,  which,  though  pardoned  all, 

Nothing  can  heal. 

Oh  then  beware,  beware  ! 

Weigh  well  each  word. 
Lest  in  some  tender  breast 

/languish  be  stirred ; 
Lest  when  'tis  all  too  late. 

Thou  wouldst  call  back  ajrain 
Harsh  words,  whose  memory 

Mocks  thee  in  vain. 
8 


86 


A  MEMORY. 

'TwAS  on  a' balmy  morning  in  the  month  of  May, 
When  the  busy  song  of  birds,  and  scent  of  flowers 
Bespoke  the  glad  return  of  Spring. 

I  stood 
Beside  a  couch,  where  lay  the  pale  death-stricken 

form 
Of  a  fair  girl.    The  fresh  breeze  as  it  murmured  by, 
Soft  fanned  the  glossy  ringlets  of  her  dark-brown 

hair. 
And  cooled  the  fevered  throbbing  of  her  snow-white 

brow. 
She  had  been  beautiful,  and  evien  now  disease 
Had    scarcely  robbed   her  of  iker  youth's   bright 

bloom ;  yet  sure 
Consumption  with  its  blighting  breath  wasted  her 

frame. 


A    MEMORY.  87 

And  stole  the  gentle  rose-hue  from  her  maiden 
cheek, 

Leaving  the  brilliant  ^'hectic"  in  its  place.     She 

lay 
The  uncomplaining  victim  to  an  early  doom. 
And  softly  by  her  side,  in  low  convulsive  sobs, 
(Lest  troubled  grief  like  hers  disturb  the  flowin<T 

fount 

Of  deep,  strong,  deathless  love  within  the  sufferer's 

heart), 
Her  mother  wept. 

And  seeing  that  a  fevered  sleep  • 
Half  sealed  her  dear  one's  eye,  she  in  her  wild 

despair 
Believed   her   dying.      Raising   her   sad   eyes   to 

Heaven, 

As  if  to  implore,  in  prayer,  that  God  would  kindly 

will 
"  The  bitter  cup  to  pass,"  she  exclaimed  in  anguish : 

"  Oh  my  child  I  my  child  !  I  cannot  see  thee  die, 
Nor  watch  the  fading  brightness  of  thine  eye. 


88  A    MEMORY. 

Thou  art  my  widowed  heart's  idolatry, — 
I  cannot  see  thee  die  ! 
How  I  should  miss  thy  gentle  voice's  tone, 
Thou,  my  first  born,  my  beautiful,  my  own ; 
Oh !  I  could  ne'er  tread  Earth's  bleak  path  alone, 
When  thou,  my  child,  art  gone  I" 

^  ^  'J^  'J*  *?*  ^  ^T*  'T* 

Starting,  as  if  some  thrilling  dream 
Had  broken  her  peaceful  slumber,  her  pale,  wasted 

face 
Radiant  with  a  smile  of  sweet  tranquillity, — 
The  maiden  woke,  and  opening  her  large,  languid 

eyes, 
Fixed  them  upon  her  mother,  and  began : 

^'  Mother,  draw  near,  I  must  leave  thee  now  : 

The  cold  dews  of  Death  are  upon  my  brow. 

I  must  quit  thy  embrace  and  the  home  of  my  love; 

But  I  go  to  a  far  brighter  dwelling  above. 

I'll  twine  a  bright  chaplet  of  fair  flowers  there. 

For  thee, — meet  reward  for  thy  fond,  gentle  care, — 


A    MEMORY.  89 

And  o'er  thee  a  spirit's  kind  vigil  111  keep. 
Oh  mother,  sweet  mother,  I  pray  do  not  weep. 
Ne'er  again  shall  I  know  either  sickness  or  care  : 
Disease,  Death,  nor  sorrow  can  e'er  reach  me  there. 
Mother  !  the  harp-notes  of  angels  I  hear, — 
They're  wooing  my  soul  to  that  heavenly  sphere. 
I  go — fare  thee  well" — 

But  the  next  word  was  spoken  in  Heaven, 

For  her  pure  soul  had  gone  back  to  its  God,  and 

now 
The  afflicted  mother,  bowing  her  chastened  heart 
In  meek  submission  to  Heaven's  stern  decree, 
Murmured,  "  Thy  will  be  done  !" 


8* 


90 


A  LITTLE  CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

Low  I  bend  my  knee  before  Thee, 
Gracious  Saviour,  meek  and  mild ; 

Hear  the  prayer  my  young  lips  utter. 
Thou  wert  once,  like  me, — a  child. 

In  this  world,  a  trembling  stranger, 

Timidly  I  grope  alway. 
For  I  know  that  foes  are  lurking 

To  entice  my  steps  astray. 

Let  Thy  gracious  hand  then  guide  me 
■    O'er  life's  dark  and  troubled  tide, — 
Take  me  under  Thy  protection. 
Keep  me  ever  near  Thy  side. 


A    LITTLE    child's    PRAYER.  91 

Let  my  footsteps  never  wander 

From  thy  paths  thou  guid'st  me  in ; 

Screen,  Oh  !   Lord,  my  soul  from  danger, 
Guard  my  helpless  heart  from  sin. 

And  when  Death  shall  come  to  bear  me 
From  the  scenes  of  Earth  away, 

May  my  spirit  find  its  guerdon, 
Li  the  realms  of  endless  day. 

There  to  join  the  praise  eternal 

Of  the  myriad  Angel  host. 
Who  surround  Thy  throne,  adoring 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 


92 


a 


I  WOULD  NOT  LIVE  ALWAYS." 


I  WOULD  not  live  always,  though  fortune  should 

smile, 
And  pleasure  should  gladden  my  path  all  the  while ; 
Though  friends  should  surround  me  to  comfort  and 

cheer, 
I  still  would  not  linger  eternally  here. 

I  would  not  live  always,  though  glory  and  fame. 
Should  follow  my  footsteps  and  honor  my  name ; 
Though  joy  like  a  sunbeam  should  brighten  my  way, 
And  peace  in  my  heart  shed  its  shadowless  ray. 

I  would  not  live  always,  when  they  I  most  love 
Have  gone  from  this   earth  to  their  blest  homes 
above. 


a 


I   WOULD    NOT    LIVE    ALWAYS."  93 


AYlien  the  fond  ties  that  bind  us  to  life  are  all  riven, 
Oh,  who  would  then  linger  an  alien  from  Heaven ! 

I  would  not  live  always,  when  Death  can  restore 
The  friends  I  have  loved  and  give  back  as  before 
Each  link  that  hath  dropped  from  AjQfection's  bright 

chain, 
And  bind  us  in  Love's  golden  bondage  again.' 

I  would  not  live  always — no,  fain  would  I  fly 
To  that  bright  land  of  promise  beyond  the  blue  sky. 
Where  the  sad  work  of  sorrow  forever  is  o'er. 
And  partings  and  farewells  are  heard  of  no  more. 


94 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


FOR  A  BOUQUET  DURING  ILLNESS. 


Thanks,  many  thanks,  for  your  lovely  flowers ; 
They  have  sweetly  gladdened  my  weary  hours, — 
They  bring  a  smile  in  the  sad  heart  to  glow, 
And  a  perfumed  breath  for  the  fevered  brow. 
Flowers  !  they  wake  in  the  Invalid's  breast 
Glad  thoughts  of  Earth  in  her  Spring  beauty  drest ; 
Of  the  open  field  and  the  forest  wild, — 
Where  Nature's  own  glory  hath  brightly  smiled. 
I  pine  for  the  cool  mountain's  shady  stream, 
Where  the  bright-eyed  blossoms  in  beauty  gleam 
From  the  sloping  bank,  and  then  stooping  lave 
Their  light,  pearly  cups  in  the  sparkling  w^ave. 
What  would  the  Spring  be,  though  a  vocal  train 
Of  forest  warblers  still  herald  her  reign, 


TO   A   FRIEND.  9 


n 


If  no  blushing  buds  in  our  pathway  grew, 
Or  lilies  to  gather  the  soft  May  dew  ? 
And  what  of  the  honey  bee, — can  ye  tell 
Where  his  light,  airy  form  all  day  would  dwell 
In  the  Summer  hours,  if  no  sweet-celled  bloom 
Allured  him  not  with  its  honeyed  perfume  ? 
Flowers  !  they  are  gems  on  the  breast  of  Earth  ; 
How  holy  their  mission,  how  pure  their  worth  ! 
Oh  !  for  that  clime  where  no  chill,  autumn  blight, 
Can  wither  their  freshness,  or  fade  their  light. 
Thanks,  gentle  friend,  for  your  sweet  gift  to  me ; 
It  wakens  a  wish  in  my  heart  for  thee. 
That  ever  through  life  from  Love's  roseate  bowers 
Your  hand  may  gather  the  choicest  flowers. 


96 


SHADOWS  OF  MEMORY. 

One  moment  to  my  throbbing  heart  I  clasped  thee, 

darling  boy, — 
One  moment  felt  the  gushing  of  a  mother's  holy  joy. 
And  while  I  gazed  with  rapture  on  thy  matchless 

infant  charms. 
Death's  envious  Angel  softly  came,  and  stole  thee 

from  my  arms. 
And  oh,  so  stealthily  he  crept — so  gently  hushed 

thy  breath. 
It  seemed  almost  a  mockery,  to  say  that  such  was 

Death. 
So  full  of  love  and  hope  was  I,  that  blessed  April 

morn, 
I  scarce  had  felt  thou  wert  my  own,  my  beautiful 

first-born. 


SHADOWS    OF   MEMORY.  97 

And  e'en  while  I  implored  for  strength,  mj  babe, 

that  I  might  be 
Thy  onlj  mother,— that  no  stranger  breast  might 

nurture  thee. 
They  took  thee  sleeping  from  my  side,  and  laid 

thee  snug  and  low — 
Close  by,  within  thy  cradle-bed,  as  soft  and  white 

as  snow. 
And  there,  in  holy  slumber  wrapt,  I  watched  thee 

all  the  while. 

Until  my  mother-fondness  grew  impatient  for  thy 
smile ; 

I  longed  to  see  thee  ope  thine  eye,  but  wished  alas, 
in  vain — 

How  little  dreaming  then  that  thou  wouldst  never 
wake  again. 

At  length  so  breathless  still  thy  sleep,  so  motion- 
less thy  head. 

That  earnestly  I  begged  they  would  just  lay  thee 
on  my  bed ; 

Where  I  might  note  each  restless  stir,  and  catch 
each  half-drawn  sigh, 
9 


98  SHADOWS   OF   MEMORY. 

And  if  a  sound  disturbed,  speak  one  soft  word  of 

''lullaby." 
But  no ;  "  So  sweet  he  rests,"  they  said,  "  he  must 

not  \Yakened  be," 
And  I,  thus  feeble,  must  not  feel  too  anxious,  love, 

for  thee. 
They  meant  it  kind,  but  I  have  felt,  sometimes,  in 

my  despair. 
That,  had  they  brought  thee  to  my  arms,  I  might 

have  kept  thee  there  ; — 
So  closely  nestled  to  my  heart,  my  birdling  might 

have  been 
Warmed  into  life,  if  love  could  win  the  spirit  back 

again. 
The  weary  hours   dragged  slowly  on,  till  others 

feared,  like  me. 
That  thy  long  slumber  was  too  deep,  and  softly 

crept  to  see. 
All  mutely  gazed  ! — I  watched   each  mien — thy 

little  helpless  head 
Hung  still  and  cold  upon  thy  breast, — oh,  God ! 

my  child  was  dead. 


SHADOWS    OF    MEMORY.  99 

Yes,  in  the  morning  of  thy  life,  ere  sin  could  mar 
thy  day, 

A  band  of  smiling  Cherubs  came,  and  wooed  thy 
soul  away. 

Soft  Angel-voices  in  thy  sleep  told  thee,  in  whispers 
low. 

Of  deathless  flowers  in  Paradise,  and  bade  thee, 

darling,  go. 
If  thou  hadst  only  known   the  love  that  wildly 

gushed  for  thee. 
Ah,  then  I  might  have  borne  to  let  my  little  pet 

dove  flee. 

Or  if  thou  erst  had  parted  that  sweet  coral  mouth 

of  thine 
To  lisp  but  one  soft  word  of  love,  in  answer  back 

to  mine, 

I  might  bave  felt  to  see  thee  die,  thou  couldst  not 

then  forget 

Thy  mother's  wild  idolatry,  which  lingers,  baby, 
yet. 

But  ah,  to  yield  thee  thus,  my  boy-to  give  thee  up 
to  Death, 


100  SHADOWS   OF   MEMOllY. 

Ere  I  had  scarcely  felt  the  glow  of  thy  soft  per- 
fumed breath  ! 
'Tis  this  that  mocks  my  agony !     Yet  I  will  not 

despair, 
Since  Heaven  is  thine,  and  I  may  still  clasp  thee, 

my  lost  one,  there. 
Oh,  from  that  far  off  spirit  land,  where  all  is  joy 

divine, — 
Where  thou,  mid  radiant  Seraph  hosts,  the  loveliest 

far,  doth  shine, 
Sweet  baby,  sometimes  give  one  thought — one  kindly 

thought  to  me. 
And  let  thy  mother  feel  that  she  is  not  estranged 

from  thee. 
Hear  this  fond  prayer,  in  anguish  breathed, — and 

on  thy  glad  wing  flee. 
And  bear  it  to  His  throne,  who  ne'er  couldst  turn 

away  from  thee. 
That  where  my  child,  my  Angel-child,  and  little 

Willie  are, 
I  too  may  go,  when  life  is  o'er, — and  tliou  mayH 

knoiu  me  there. 


101 


WHAT  A  ZEPHYR  TOLD  ME. 

I'm  a  beautiful  zephyr, 

Liglit,  airy,  and  free; 
And  I  roam  the  wide  world, 

O'er  the  Land  and  the  Sea. 
I  follow  old  Winter 

With  warmth  on  my  wing ; 
And  the  Poets  have  called  me 

The  breathing  of  Spring. 
I  kiss  the  young  flowers, 

And  they  Avake  to  the  light ; 
At  my  voice  the  birds  carol 

Their  songs  of  delight. 
I  climb  the  tall  mountain, 

I  rove  through  the  plain. 


102  WHAT    A    ZEPnYR    TOLD    ME. 

And  I  sport  with  the  billows 

On  Ocean's  broad  main. 
I  fan  the  sweet  garden-beds 

With  my  soft  wing, 
And  lo  !  from  their  dewy  breasts 

Violets  spring. 
The  rivulets  owe  all 

Their  music  to  me, 
For  I  conquer  the  Ice-King 

And  thus,  they  are  free. 
I  fan  the  poor  Invalid's 

Brow,  and  its  gloom 
Fades  in  light,  'neath  the  breath 

Of  my  rosy  perfume. 
I  lure  the  dull  honey-bee 

Back  to  the  flowers. 
And  I  wake  the  winged  warblers 

In  green  forest  bowers. 
I'm  a  beautiful  zephyr, 

Light,  airy,  and  free; 
And  I  roam  the  wide  world, 

O'er  the  Land  and  the  Sea. 


WHAT   A    ZEPHYR    TOLD    ME.  10 

I  follow  old  Winter 

With  warmth  on  my  wing ; 
And  the  Poets  have  called  me 

The  breathing  of  SiDring. 


o 


104 


LITTLE  CARLTON. 

A    LAMENT.* 

He  came  to  us — a  thing  of  joy, 

Filling  our  home  with  glee ; 
No  warbling  bird  upon  the  wing 

Seemed  half  so  blithe  as  he. 

The  face  so  bright,  e'er  sickness  dimmed 

The  light  within  his  eyes ; 
The  tottering  step,  the  laughing  shout. 

The  look  of  glad  surprise — 

All  now  are  sad  remembered  things. 

That  come  to  mock  despair  ; 
And  yet  our  fond  hearts  love  to  hold 

Each  treasured  picture  fair. 

*  Inscribed  to  his  father  and  motlier,— Mr.  and  Mrs.  John 
R.  Steptoe,  of  Virginia. 


LITTLE   CARLTON.  105 

For  while  we  watched  his  angel  smile, 

Heaven  seemed  not  far  awaj — 
We  dreamed  not  that  a  phantom-form 

Followed  him,  day  by  day. 

But  oh,  at  length  the  Spoiler  drew 

Nearer,  with  stealthy  tread, 
And  marked  the  prize — our  darling  bowed 

His  little,  sinless  head. 

For  months,  with  anxious,  prayerful  hearts. 

We  watched  him  day  by  day, 
As  with  hushed  song,  and  weary  wing. 

Our  precious  birdling  lay. 

And  now,  a  fresh,  green  baby-grave. 

Out  in  the  still,  cold  air. 
Holds  his  pale  dust— the  faded  robe 

His  freed  soul  used  to  wear. 

A  little  life — a  slender  span. 

Made  up  of  Summer  hours. 
Was  all  of  him—he  ope'd  his  eyes. 

And  closed  them  with  the  flowers. 


106 


THE  NOSE  OUT  OF  JOINT. 

INSCRIBED  TO  **  EMILY." 

I  WAS  a  spoiled  and  petted  thing, 
And  "Baby"  was  the  name 

By  which  my  mother  called  to  me, 
Till  little  brother  came. 

I  used  to  have  a  cradle-bed 
Just  made  to  suit  my  form. 

Where  sweet  I  slept  "  all  by  myself," 
So  nice,  and  snug,  and  warm. 

And  gentle  nurse  would  walk  with  me 
In  summer-time,  where  flowers 

Of  red,  and  white,  and  purple  hue. 
Bloomed  in  their  fragrant  bowers. 


THE   NOSE   OUT   OF   JOINT.  107 

When  neighbors  called  and  asked  to  see 
"  The  Darling,"  I  was  brought ; 

And  many  a  nut  and  sugar-plum 
My  eager  fingers  caught. 

I  had  my  little  "party"  scenes, 

And  pleased  I  used  to  be, 
For  every  toy  my  father  brought 

Was  always  brought  for  me. 

And  yet  I  am  not  jealous  now. 

Though  tmies  are  not  the  same ; 
I  had  no  mate  to  play  with  me,  ^ 

Till  little  brother  came. 

Although  he  has  the  cradle-bed 

That  used  to  be  my  owm. 
Yet  Avhen  I  wake  at  morning  now, 

I  do  not  feel  alone. 

For  well  I  know  one  little  heart 
My  childhood's  joy  partakes — 


108  THE   NOSE    OUT    OF   JOINT. 

One  little  mouth  will  share  my  meal 
Of  slighted  ''thimble  cakes." 

He  knows  the  language  of  mj  lips. 
When  fain  I  would  command 

Some  pleasure  which  our  good  mamma 
Nor  nurse  can  understand. 

And  many  a  time  his  finger  points, 
In  our  sweet  walks  together, 

To  some  bright  flower  I  had  not  seen 
Or  bird  of  shining  feather. 

I  would  not  be  without  him  now, 
Though  times  are  not  the  same  ; 

I  had  no  brother  dear  to  love 
Till  little  "Edwin"  came. 


109 


A  REMEMBERED  SERMON.*     * 

It  fell  upon  the  ear  like  the  rapt  tones 

Of  Heavenly  music,  and  the  air  around 

Caught  the  sweet  echo  of  the  Pastor's  words 

All  eloquent  of  love — the  Saviour's  love. 

I  cannot  soon  forget  that  face  serene, 

As,  in  the  meekness  of  an  humble  trust, 

It  rose  before  us ;  there  was  such  zeal 

And  earnest  pleading  in  each  look  and  tone. 

No  clamor  of  complaint  for  misdeeds  done. 

No  fearful  curse  for  duties  unperformed. 

No  cry  of  threatening  wrath, — but  a  sweet  call 

Of  ^^  mercy"  to  the  wandering.     ^'  Brethren" — 

He  spoke,  and  every  listening  ear  was  bent 

To  catch  each  accent  of  his  rich,  clear  voice, 

*  By  Bishop  Johns,  of  the  Virginia  Diocese. 
10 


110  A   REMEMBERED   SERMON. 

As,  from  the  open  pages  of  The  Book, 

He  read  the  simple  language  of  his  text, — 

^'  The  Master  is  come  and  calleth  for  thee." 

They  were  such  words  as  e'en  a  little  child 

Might  have  expressed  as  plainly,  yet  they  fell 

From  fhose  inspired  lips  like  melody; 

And  by  each  tone  that  followed,  hearts  were  moved. 

At  length,  the  speaker's  accents  fervent  grew, 

As  if  the  spirit  of  St.  Paul  was  there 

And  spake  again,  through  those  meek,  parted  lips. 

"Brethren,"  he  said  once  more,  "the  Master's 

come." 
Faith  lifted  up  her  bright,  exulting  eyes. 
"  Hail,  Heavenly  Visitor,  at  whose  coming  step 
All  gloomy  shadows  fade ;  in  the  blest  light 
Of  whose  joy-giving  smile,  darkness  and  clouds 
Must  vanish. 

"Jesus,  Redeemer,  God, — Thou 
At  whose  name  the  Cherubim  bow  down 
And  Angels  veil  their  faces.     Thou,  whom  the 

Heaven 
Of  Heavens  cannot  contain, — whose  presence  fills 


A    REMEMBERED    SERMOX.  Ill 

Immensity, — dost  Thou  jet  deign  to  choose 

For  thine  abode,  these  earth-stained  hearts  of  ours  ? 

Oh,  make  them  then  by  thine  own  cleansing  grace. 

Fit  dwellings  for  so  great  and  pure  a  Guest. 

Banish  from  thence,  dear  Lord,  all  dross  of  sin, 

And  bless  them  with  the  light  of  holiness ; 

That  when  in  judgment  thy  sure  step  draws  near, 

And  Death  proclaims  in  our  dull,  closing  ear, 

'  The  Master's  come,'  our  yearning  souls  may  cry. 

In  eager,  glad  response,  '  Even  so,  come  Thou, 

Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly.'  " 

I  have  heard  eloquence  in  Senate  halls. 

Have  seen  men  stirred  to  wrath,  and  moved  to  tears, 

As  mighty  tongues  chained  listening  multitudes, 

By  the  grand  utterance  of  noble  thoughts. 

I  have  bowed  down  to  Genius  as  displayed 

On  glowing  pages  of  immortal  verse. 

But  never  yet  did  my  ear  catch  such  tones 

Of  thrilling  pathos  as,  that  morning,  fell 

In  burning  words,  from  the  inspired  lips 

Of  that  meek  man  of  God.  « 


112 


"IN  MEMORIAM." 

(W.  C.  M— ir.) 

I  HAD  no  thought  when  thou  were  with  us  here, 
That  I  should  write  thy  ''  In  memoriam ;" 
That  e'er  this  hand  should,  o'er  a  name  so  dear, 
Trace  that  sad  word,  "departed." 

Where  are  words 
To  speak  thy  praise,  oh,  friend  of  noble  soul  ? 
What  language  shall  my  pen  employ  to  tell 
The  thousand  virtues  that  adorned  thy  life  ? 
That  life,  whose  brightening  sun  ne'er  reached  its 

noon. 
The  soldier  falls  upon  the  battle-field, 
And  muffled  drum  and  martial  music,  slow. 
Chime  forth  his  requiem.     The  statesman  dies, 
And  drooping  banners  wave  above  his  bier. 


''  IN   MEMORIAM."  113 

While  nations  loud  proclaim  a  nation's  loss. 
But  ere  the  sculptured  pile  is  reared,  that  marks 
His  grave,  another  takes  his  place,  and  fills 
The  vacant  rank  as  Tvell. 

Not  so  with  thee ; 
For  in  the  hearts  thou  leav'st  behind,  there  lives 
The  fadeless  record  of  a  good  man's  name. 
And  Memory  calls,  at  mention  of  it. 
Deeds,  words,  and  smiles  of  kindness  lost  with  thee. 
Aye,  Friendship  loves  to  dwell  on  all  thou  wert — 
Alas  !  how  few  resemble  thee,  while  none 
Excel.     So  pure  in  heart,  meek,  gentle,  mild. 
Withal,  of  lofty  aims,  so  emulous. 
Thy  manly  heart  throbbed  but  in  unison 
With  truth  and  virtue  ;  noble  thoughts  there  found 
A  fitting  home,  and  love  a  sanctuary. 
But  Death  disowns  all  greatness;  and  when  Earth 
Seemed  fairest  to  thine  eye,  when  Fortune  smiled 
And  life's  sky  gleamed  with  rainbows — aye,  when 

Love 
Circled  thy  heart  with  its  pure  sympathies. 
And  thy  proud  cheek  had  but  just  lately  felt 

10"^ 


114  ''IN    MEMORIAM." 

The  thrilling  sweetness  of  thy  first-born's  breath, 

His  icy  dart  was  near  thee.     Slowly  fell 

The  shaft  that  laid  thee  low ;  the  fading  cheek,- 

The  brightening  eye,  the  weary,  laggard  step, 

All  told  that  the  Destroyer  e'en  would  lay 

A  gentle  hand  on  thee.     The  balmy  airs 

Of  Southern  climes  were  sought,  alas !  in  vain. 

Thou  didst  return  with  the  Spring  violets, 

And,  as  they  breathed  sweet  incense  round  thy  bed, 

God's  Angel  hushed  thy  breath,  and  laughing  May 

Awoke  the  flowers,  to  lift  their  heads,  and  smile 

Above  thy  grave. 

Oh  !  it  is  well  with  thee, — 
Well,  for  a  soul  like  thine,  thus  to  lay  down 
Earth's  needful  cross,  and,  early  thus,  put  on 
Heaven's  waiting  crown.      To  us,  the  way  is  dark, 
Of  thy  dear  presence  and  thy  smile  bereft ; 
Yet  well  we  know  that  in  life's  conflict  here, 
Thine  was,  the  while,  a  hero's  noble  part, 
Thine  now,  a  Conqueror's  grave. 


115 


A  MOTHER'S  PRAYER. 

God  of  Mercy !  Father,  Friend, 
At  thy  feet  we  humbly  bend ; 
Comfort,  in  our  sorrow,  send — 

Bless  our  little  Willie. 

Low  he  lies — his  baby  cheek 
Fever-flushed,  his  eyelids  meek 
Closed  in  languor  ;  Jesus,  speak. 
Raise  our  little  Willie  ! 

Thou  a  parent's  care  hath  known, 
Thou  a  mother's  love  didst  own. 
Let  our  hearts  to  Thee  make  moan- 
Heal  our  little  Willie. 

Once  to  Thy  kind  bosom  pressed, 


116  A  mother's  prayer. 

Little  ones  -vvere  fondly  blest ; 
Soothe  a  troubled  soul's  unrest, 

Save  our  little  Willie. 

All  day  long  his  head  hath  lain 
Restless  from  disease  and  pain — 
Saviour,  give  him  health  again ! 
Helpless  little  Willie. 

Much  of  our  life's  dearest  joy 
Centres  in  him — angel  boy  ; 
Do  not  our  fond  bliss  destroy, 

Do  not  take  our  AVillie. 

But  in  mercy,  God  of  power. 
Spare,  oh !  spare  this  cherished  flower. 
Drooping  in  our  home's  sweet  bower. 
Spare  our  little  Willie  ! 

Send,  from  Heaven's  glad  realm  of  light. 
Messengers  of  love  to-night ; 
Let  thine  angels,  pure  and  bright. 
Watch  our  little  Willie. 


A  mother's  prayer.  117 

And  when  morning  comes  to  clieer 
Gracious  Saviour,  be  thou  near ; 
Brighten  hope  and  banish  fear, 

Heal  our  little  Willie. 

Or  if  it  should  be  Thy  will. 
We  would  Th  J  stern  law  fulfil ; 
Only  whisper,  "  Peace,  be  still," 
Take  our  little  Willie. 

And  above  yon  starry  dome, 
Where  disease  no  more  may  come 
Let  our  darling  find  a  home, 

Angel  little  Willie ! 


V- 


118 


TO  SLEEP. 

(written  in  sickness.) 

Touch  me  with  thy  soft  hand, 
Oh,  gentle  Soother  of  the  weary-hearted ; 

And  bear  me  to  that  land 
Where  dreams  restore  the  joys  fore'er  departed. 

Take  from  my  brow  this  pain, 
And  from  my  heart  its  dull,  cold  weight  of  sorrow ; 

Let  me  feel  once  again 
Health,  buoyant  health,  returning  with  the  morrow. 

The  daylight  hath  gone  by. 
Soft  Night  appears,  her  mystic  shadows  bringing ; 

Seal  with  thy  kiss  mine  eye. 
And  quench  the  tears  from  a  full  heart  upspringing. 


TO    SLEEP.  119 

For  though  thy  silent  mien 
Dost  wear  of  Death  perchance  too  close  a  seeming, 

Yet  in  thy  smile  serene 
I  trace  of  quiet  joy  a  -welcomed  gleaming. 

Fold  me  to  thy  kind  breast — 
Already  do  I  feel  thy  presence  stealing 

Near  with  its  balm  of  rest — 
Oh,  lull  to  Lethean  calm  each  rebel  feelins:. 

And  I  will  bless  our  God, 
E'en  while  upon  this  couch  of  pain  I  languish, 

That,  fainting  'neath  His  rod, 
Thy  touch  hath  kindly  soothed  this  fevered  anguish. 

Oh,  once  again  draw  nigh. 
Bless  the  long,  weary  hours  I  still  must  number, 

Seal  with  thy  kiss  mine  eye — 
Fold  me  to  thy  soft  bosom,  peaceful  Slumber. 

And  when  these  aching  eyes 
Upon  life's  transient  scenes  are  darkly  closing. 

May  the  freed  spirit  rise 
To  endless  rest  mid  Heaven's  own  bliss  reposing. 


120 


GONE  HENCE. 

(on  the  death  of  an  infant  nephew,  WILLIE  E.  MEEM.) 

Thou  hast  gone  hence,  my  angel  boy, 
Gone  is  thine  eye's  soft  light ; 

The  little  form  so  fondly  loved 
Hath  vanished  from  our  sight. 

I  see  no  more  the  smile  that  played 

Upon  thy  baby  face ; 
No  more,  thy  tiny  arms  reach  out 

To  meet  my  fond  embrace. 

Thy  dimpled  cheeks  no  more  may  press 

Thy  mother's  loving  breast ; 
No  more  her  voice  in  "  lullaby" 

Hush  thee  to  rosy  rest. 

The  grave  now  hides,  my  precious  boy. 
Thy  fair,  though  faded  mould, — 


GONE    HEXCE.  121 

Thy  little  heart  is  pulseless  now, 
Thy  forehead,  pale  and  cold. 

And  jet  around  us  everywhere 

Are  little  things,  that  tell 
Of  all  the  joys  we've  lost  in  thee, — 

Joys  loved,  perhaps,  too  well. 

Thy  vacant  cradle,  carriage,  chair, 

Thy  mantle,  toys,  and  ring, — 
All,  all  are  here  to  mock  the  tears 

Which  tender  memories  bring. 

But  where  thy  infant  step  hath  been, 

All  now  is  grief  and  gloom ; 
And  we,  who  watched  thy  baby  glee, 

Are  wailing  round  thy  tomb. 

Be  still,  my  heart,  why  darkly  mourn 

The  beautiful  and  free  ; 
Thou'lt  not  come  back  to  us,  my  boy. 

Yet  we  may  go  to  thee. 
11 


122 


THE  BRIDE  OF  DEATH. 

(suggested  by  the  death  of  a  lady  soon  to  have  become  a 

BRIDE.) 

Bring  flowers,  bring  snowy  lilies  fair, 

To  twine  around  lier  brow, 
For  lo  !  the  young,  the  pure,  the  bright, 

In  death  is  slumb'ring  now. 

Tread  softly, — angels  hover  near. 

Their  viewless  wings  outspread — 

Bright  visitants  returned  to  Earth 
To  watch  around  the  dead. 

How  changed  the  home  where  she  hath  moved, 

The  blessing  and  the  pride 
Of  loving  hearts,  that  struggle  now 

Their  helpless  grief  to  hide. 


THE    BRIDE    OF    DEATH.  123 

Eut  jesterclaj,  all  bright  with  hope, 
Her  voice  in  music  burst ; — 

Alas  !  that  in  Death's  phantom  throng, 
Our  fairest  should  be  first. 

Ah,  broken  is  the  golden  chain 
Of  hopes  and  memories  dear, 

That  hung  around  the  cherished  form 
Now  slumb'ring  on  this  bier. 

And  parted  is  the  household  band ; 

All  desolate  and  lone 
Thej  weep  :  from  out  the  parent  nest 

The  SAYcetest  bird  hath  flown. 

Afar  is  heard  the  tearful  wail 

Of  love  by  hope  denied  ; 
He  mourns  for  her,  the  doubly  lost, 

AYho  would  have  been  his  bride. 

The  Orange  blossoms  faded  lie. 
Culled  for  the  bridal  wreath ; 

Lay  them  aside, — with  lily-bells 
Crown  ye  the  Bride  of  Death. 


124 


TO  A  DEAR  UNCLE. 

(ON   HIS    DETAETURE    FOR   CALIFORNIA.) 

Heaven's  blessing  rest  on  thee,  beloved, 

As  to  a  distant  land 
Thou  wand'rest  far,  while  we  remain, 

A  broken  household  band. 

The  Summer  birds  will  come  and  go — 
The  flowers  will  bloom  and  fade ; 

The  autumn  winds  sigh  mournfully 
Amid  the  forest's  shade. 

And  loving  lips  will  call  thy  name 

In  whispered  accents  low. 
And  yearning  hearts  will  sigh  for  thee 

Wherever  thou  mayst  go. 


TO    A   DEAR    UNCLE.  125 

And  yet  thou'lt  not  return  to  us 

For  many  a  weary  day : 
Spring's  verdure,  Summer's  bloom  will  find 

The  wand'rer  still  away. 

And  prayers  will  oft  ascend  for  thee, 

At  morn  and  eventide  ; 
When  gathered  round  the  social  hearth 

We  miss  thee  from  our  side. 

Ah,  then  in  Memory's  trace  will  come 

Thy  well-remembered  tone ; 
The  look  of  kindness  and  the  smile 

That's  lost  when  thou  art  gone. 

And  at  the  board,  the  cheerful  board. 

Which  thou  wert  wont  to  share, 
Hushed  now  will  be  the  merry  jest. 

Where  sits  thy  vacant  chair. 

At  evening  too,  when  music  rings 
Loud  through  the  parlor  hall, 
11^ 


126  TO   A   DEAR   UNCLE. 

When  heard  the  song  by  thee  loved  best, 
Tears  will  unbidden  fall. 

In  Summer's  glory,  Winter's  gloom, 
By  hearth,  and  on  the  stair. 

All  day,  at  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
We'll  miss  thee  everywhere. 

Nor  will  the  gladness  to  our  home 
Come  back,  our  hearts  to  cheer, 

Or  mirth  and  glee  return  again. 
Beloved,  till  thou  art  here. 

Then  linger  not  too  long  away. 

Far  in  a  distant  land ; 
Remember  that  thou  Icav'st  behind 

A  lonely  household  band. 


127 


A  FATHER'S  LAMENT. 

I  CANNOT  make  thee  dead,  mj  child, 

I  cannot  make  thee  dead. 
Although  thj  form  lies  cold  and  still 

Within  its  cradle-bed. 

And  on  thj  breast  I  see  the  flowers 

Of  Summer,  fragrant  lie. 
Like  thee  to  breathe  out  their  sweet  life, 

And  then,  like  thee,  to  die. 

Meet  emblems  they,  of  thy  brief  span. 
So  joyous,  calm,  and  free, — 

Ko  cloud  to  dim,  no  blight  to  stain 
Thy  soul's  sweet  purity. 

I  gaze  upon  thy  little  form, 
So  motionless  and  cold ; 


128  A    FATHEll'S    LAMENT. 

And  almost  doubt  that  what  I  see 
Is  but  a  lifeless  mould. 

Thy  gentle  eyes  seem  closed  in  sleep, 
To  ope  again  more  bright, 

I  cannot  feel,  that  quenched  and  gone 
Is  their  sweet  spirit-light. 

And  in  fond  memory  too,  I  see 
A  sweet,  bright,  baby  face. 

Following  me  with  its  earnest  gaze, 
And  modest,  winning  grace. 

How  meekly  o'er  those  little  orbs 
The  close-sealed  e3^elids  lie, — 

But  when  I  speak,  no  soft  tone  comes 
Like  music,  in  reply. 

And  when  I  press  the  tiny  hand 
Near  to  my  beating  heart. 

Its  icy  coldness  makes  the  pulse 
Of  warm  affection  start. 


A  father's  lament.  129 

Mj  child,  how  can  we  give  thee  up, 

Our  Mary,  sinless  one  ! 
Where  will  the  gladness  of  our  home 

Be  now,  thy  smile  is  gone  ? 

But  yesterday,  thy  baby  arms 

Reached  out  to  welcome  me ; 
And  now,  a  soulless  shrine  of  dust 

Is  all  I  clasp  of  thee. 

Oh  God !  who  know'st  a  parent's  love, 

Forgive,  if,  at  Thy  will. 
Our  hearts  are  crushed, — Thy  mercy  yet 

May  whisper,  ^' Peace — be  still." 

No  longer  may  I  pause  to  hear, 

In  prattling  accents  sweet. 
The  voice  whose  baby  tones  were  first 

My  coming  step  to  greet. 

Yet  well  I  know  that  in  that  clime 
Where  all  is  light  and  love, 


130  A  father's  lament. 

Close  in  tlie  Saviour's  tender  breast 
Nestles  our  timid  Dove. 

And  though  thou  never  more  mayst  come 

To  us,  yet  we  may  go 
To  thee,  sweet  baby,  when  the  cares 

And  griefs  of  life  are  o'er. 

Now  fare  thee  well,  my  angel  child. 

Henceforth  there'll  surely  be 
Between  our  hearts  and  Heaven,  a  chain 

Linking  us  still  with  thee. 

One  kiss  upon  the  marble  cheek, 

Then  to  the  arms  of  God 
We  yield  thee,  while,  with  chastened  hearts, 

We  bow  beneath  His  rod. 

No  more  with  gladness  thy  dear  smile 
Our  home  and  hearts  may  fill. 

Yet  in  the  mansions  of  the  blest 
Thou  art  "our  Mary"  still. 


A  father's  lament.  131 

And  'mid  Heaven's  radiant  Cherub-hosts 

Thy  little  face,  so  fair, 
Will  be,  when  we  are  called  above, 

The  first  to  meet  us  there. 

Oh,  from  that  land  of  fadeless  bloom, 

Where  thou  art  wandering  now. 
With  no  disease  to  mar  the  light 

That  shines  upon  thy  brow, 

Look  on  us,  baby,  still,  and  be 

The  guardian  Angel  given, 
To  guide  our  faltering,  wayward  steps 

From  this  dull  Earth  to  Heaven. 


132 


NIGHT-WATCH  WITH  A  DEAD  INFANT. 

(inscribed    to    MR.    AND    MRS.    DEXTER    OTEY,    OP    LYNCHBITRG.) 

Tread  softly  here  ! — Upon  this  little  couch 
An  angel  sleeps.     Closed  are  its  ejes,  and  cold 
Its  forehead  fair,  yet  on  the  lip  Heaven's  seal 
Of  holiest  love  is  placed, — a  Cherub  smile. 
Upon  the  breast,  so  still  and  quiet  now, 
The  little  hands  are  folded  peacefully ; 
And  the  young  heart  will  throb  again  no  more 
In  restless  agony. 

This  was  a  flower 
Of  rare  and  winning  loveliness  ;  'twas  reared 
And  watched  and  tended  with  devoted  care ; 
But  when  it  learned  to  know  the  voice  of  love, 
And  to  give  back  affection's  fragrance — lo ! 


NIGHT-WATCH   WITH   A   DEAD   INFANT.        133 

The  Spoiler  came,  and  with  his  canker-touch 
Blighted  the  tender  blossom,  till  it  fell 
Withered  and  crushed  from  off  the  parent  stem. 
Angel  hands  caught  up  the  faded  floweret, 
And  afar  to  Heaven's  immortal  bowers 
Bore  it  with  gentle  care,  to  live  and  bloom 
Mid  the  soft  genial  airs  of  Paradise. 
There,  falls  no  blighting  breath  upon  the  flowers, 
And  there,  no  shadowy  veil  shuts  from  our  gaze 
The  forms  we  love.     In  that  bright  radiant  realm 
Of  endless  joy  and  sunshine,  wanders  now 
The  little  sinless  soul,  o'er  Avhose  pale  shrine 
We  keep  this  midnight  vigil.     Angel  child  ! 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  that  Eden  clime 
Of  glowing  light  and  beauty.     On  thy  brow, 
So  cold  and  pallid  here,  no  trace  is  there 
Of  suffering  or  disease, — no  quick-drawn  sigh, 
No  labored,  panting  breath,  tells  me  of  pain 
That  mocks  all  human  skill,  and  makes  the  prayer 
Wrung  from  parental  lips  wild  in  its  tone 
Of  fervor  and  of  anguish.     Cherub  hands 
Crown  thee  with  garlands  now,  and  round  thee  bloom 

12 


134       NIGHT-WATCH   WITH   A   DEAD   INFANT. 

Fadeless  exotics,  o'er  whose  shining  leaves 

Comes  no  decay.     Never,  ah,  nevermore 

Shall  thy  bright  eyes  close  in  dull  languor,  or 

Thy  baby  cheek  flush  with  disease.     O'er  fields 

And  pastures  green,  thy  tiny  feet  are  led 

Near  the  still  waters  of  the  Better  Land, 

And  the  Good  Shepherd  takes  thee  in  His  arms 

And  folds  thee  to  His  bosom  tenderly. 

All  night  long  I've  watched  beside  thee,  Mary, 

And  the  hours  have  brought  me  holy  musings 

Of  that  bliss  the  freed  soul  must  enjoy,  when 

Like  a  bird  held  captive  from  its  own  green 

Forest  bowers,  it  bursts,  at  length,  the  bars 

'Gainst  which  its  weary  wing  has  fluttered  long 

And  helplessly,  and  soaring  high  above 

All  storm,  pours  forth  its  warbling  hymn  of  praise, 

And  love,  and  joyous  thankfulness  to  Him 

Who  gave  it  liberty.     'Tis  thus  with  thee. 

And  now  as  morning  breaks  o'er  earth,  and  through 

The  window-casement  daylight  peers  again, 

I'll  kiss  once  more  thy  dust  and  say  to  thee, 

' '  Farewell,  sweet  babe,  farewell ! ' '    Thy  home  is  now 


NIGHT-WATCH   WITH   A   DEAD   INFANT.        135 

Where  only  the  "  pure  in  heart"  maj  hope  to  dwell ; 
I  thank  my  God  that  He  has  called  thee  hence, 
And  I  would  fain  follow,  in  humble  trust, 
The  path  of  Truth,  which  leads  to  Heaven  and  thee. 


136 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 


FROM    A    PICTURE. 


While  o'er  the  bloody  field  night's  shadows  crept, 

A  weary  soldier  on  the  green  turf  slept ; 

One  arm  his  gun  still  clasping  in  his  rest, 

The  other  thrown  across  his  brave,  young  breast, 

With  limbs  worn  down  by  all  the  toils  of  war, 

His  spirit  in  his  slumber  wandered  far. 

He  had  a  dream, — 'twas  of  his  far-off  home. 
To  which  all  crowned  with  honors  he  had  come  : 
He  felt  his  wife's  embrace,  his  infant's  kiss, 
And  his  soul  revelled  in  the  envied  bliss, — 
For  which  he  had  so  toiled  and  fought,  and  borne 
All  the  privations  which  his  frame  had  worn. 


THE    soldier's    DREAM.  137 

His  favorite  spaniel  came  his  step  to  greet, 
And  played  and  gambolled  round  his  dust-worn  feet ; 
Each  kind  domestic  smiled  his  voice  to  hear, 
And  poured  their  gladdening  welcomes  in  his  ear. 
Shrub,  tree,  and  flower,  as  they  met  his  sight. 
Made  him  forget  awhile  his  Country's  fight. 

Sleep  on,  brave  soldier !  morn  will  come  again-, 
And  bring  to  thy  glad  heart,  distress  and  pain ; 
Thou'lt  know  that  joys  which  now  so  real  seem, 
Are  but  the  sweet  delusions  of  a  dream. 
And  'mid  the  angry  Cannons'  deepening  roar, 
Those  voices  of  thy  home  thou'lt  hear  no  more. 


12^ 


138 


CHILDREN. 

Happy  cliildren  !  Heaven  bless  them ; 

Every  day  I  chance  to  meet 
Pleasant,  cheerful,  smiling  faces, 

Passing  by  me  in  the  street. 

Everywhere  I  meet  glad  children, 

Hurrying  on  with  busy  feet ; 
Little  thinking,  little  caring, 

How  I  love  their  steps  to  greet. 

Noble  lads  and  "  bonnie  lassies," 
School-room  truants,  loitering,  slow. 

Conning,  absently,  the  lessons 

Which  they  "  fear"  they  will  not  know. 

Smiling  girls, — confiding  creatures. 
Telling  ''  cronies,"  soft  and  low. 


CHILDREN.  139 

How  their  morning  tasks  were  hindered 
By  a  favorite  "  College  Beau." 

And  (how  strange),  no  sooner  mentioned, 

Than  the  Beau  himself,  is  seen 
Very  gallantly  proposing 

To  escort, — the  Books,  I  mean. 

But  I  turn  from  lads  and  lassies, 

With  their  school-day  hopes  and  fears, 

With  a  prayer  that  life  may  spare  them 
Sorrow's  cup  in  later  years. 

Here  are  little  ones,  God  bless  them  I 

Gaily  tripping  to  and  fro ; 
How  like  cherubs  seem  they, — only 

Wanting  wings  to  make  them  so. 

Laughing  babies  from  the  cradle, 

Closely  hugged  to  nurses'  arms ; 
Little  prattlers,  tottling  slowly. 

With  their  dainty  "two  year"  charms. 


140  CHILDREN. 

Lisping  accents  !  ah,  how  dearly 
Do  I  love  such  tones  to  greet, 

As  I  daily  hear,  in  passing 
Little  children  on  the  street. 

Heaven  must  bless  them,  they  are  Heaven's 
Angels  make  them  all  their  care; 

And,  as  we  are  near  to  children, 
Just  so  near  to  Heaven  we  are. 

Who  that  sees  their  smiling  faces, 
Innocent,  and  pure,  and  mild. 

Would  not  say,  "  My  God,  I  thank  thee, 
/was  once  a  little  child." 


141 


STANZAS. 

At  early  morn,  from  fragrant  bowers, 

With  careless  hand  I  gathered  flowers ; 

Fresh  with  the  zephyr's  breath  they  grew, 

A  starry  cluster  bathed  in  dew. 

Until  from  off  their  native  stems 

In  eager  haste  I  plucked  the  gems, — 

Toyed  with  their  perfumed  leaves  awhile. 

An  idle  moment  to  beguile — 

When  in  my  path,  lo  !  at  midday, 

A  group  of  withered  flow' rets  lay  : 

Unlike  the  buds  I  plucked  at  morn, 

Their  dewy  freshness  faded,  gone. 

'Tis  thus,  thought  I,  in  Youth's  glad  hours 

We  gather  Time's  joy-laden  floAvers, 


142  STANZAS. 

And  toying  idly  with  his  glass 
We  let  the  golden  moments  pass. 
Till  in  Life's  noonday  path  we  tread, 
On  Hope's  bright  morning-glories  dead ; 
Their  freshness  gone,  we  only  see 
The  faded  flowers  of  Memory. 


143 


LITTLE  HELEN. 

They  tell  me  thou  art  dead,  fair  child, 
That  on  thy  sweet,  young  brow. 

The  gloom  and  coldness  of  the  grave 
Is  resting  darkly  now. 

That  in  this  world  where  thou  didst  move 

As  with  an  Angel's  grace. 
We  never  more  may  hope  to  meet 

Thy  soul-lit,  beaming  face. 

That  hushed  is  now  the  voice,  whose  tone 

Brought  gladness  to  the  ear 
Of  fond  Affection,  while  with  us 

Its  music  lingered  near. 

And  that  the  love  which  softly  shone. 
So  earnestly  and  bright, 


144  LITTLE   HELEN. 

From  out  the  tender,  spirit-depths 
Of  thine  eyes'  gentle  light, 

No  more  will  bless  us  with  its  glance 

Of  sympathy  so  dear. 
Which  came,  e'en  like  an  Angel's  smile, 

Our  yearning  hearts  to  cheer. 

Alas  !  alas  !  we  dreamed  not,  on 

That  sad  remembered  day. 
When  in  her  snowy,  flower-strewn  shroud 

Thy  Baby-Sister  lay, 

That  thou,  of  that  bereaved  band 
Whose  tears  fell  fast  and  long 

Upon  her  breast,  would  be  the  next 
To  join  the  Angel  throng. 

That  thou,  though  fairest,  would  be  first 

To  greet  her  in  that  clime. 
Where  moments  are  not  measured 

By  the  falling  sands  of  Time. 


LITTLE   HELEN.  145 

Nor  did  we  dream  when  in  the  grave 

We  laid  her  form  so  low, 
The  dust  upon  her  marble  cheek, 

Death's  seal  upon  her  brow, 

That  ere  one  month  should  fill  its  course. 

Thou  too  wouldst  sink  to  rest, 
Where  Summer  birds  would  sing  all  day. 

Above  thy  silent  breast. 

Ah,  vain  is  human  love,  and  vain 

The  dearest  joys  of  Earth, 
Since  hopes  that  seem  to  us  most  fair, 

Thus  perish  in  their  birth. 

Thy  life,  sweet  child,  was  like  the  blush 

That  lingers  on  the  flower, 
And  only  yields  its  perfumed  tint 

At  morning's  dewy  hour. 

Thy  soul,  thy  stainless,  cherub  soul, 
Could  rest  no  longer  here ; 
18 


146  LITTLE    HELEN. 

It  pined  in  Earth's  dull,  cheerless  soil, 
For  Heaven's  more  genial  sphere. 

And  there  I  know  that  thou  art  blest 
Far  more  than  thou  couldst  be 

With  us,  e'en  with  the  deep,  wild  love 
That  blindly  mourns  for  thee. 

Where  thou  art,  Helen,  all  is  bliss ; 

No  clouds  in  darkness  rise 
To  mar  the  light  that  shines  around 

Thy  pathway  in  the  skies. 

Oh,  from  that  radiant  spirit-clime. 

Look  still  in  pitying  love 
On  those  thy  parting  hath  bereft. 

Dear,  cherished,  household  Dove. 

And  when  God's  messenger  shall  come 

Their  spirits  to  release. 
Be  thine  the  angel  hand  to  close 

Their  weary  eyes  in  peace. 


117 


THE  CONFIRMATION. 

The  night  was  calm  and  beautiful.     The  Stars, 
The  quiet  Stars,  looked  down  with  gentle  eyes 
On  Nature's  sleeping  loveliness.     The  flowers, 
Those  dewy  gems  tliat  shine  on  Earth's  fair  breast, 
Were  nodding  dreamily  upon  their  stems  ; 
While  the  hushed  zephyrs  slumbered  peacefully 
Within  their  bosoms.     All  around  breathed  tones 
Of  soft  subduing  melody,  stilling 
To  quiet  peace,  the  clamorous  discord 
Of  man's  jarring  nature. 

By  the  might 
Of  Sabbath  influences,  solemn,  deep, 
Our  steps  were  guided  willingly,  to  where 
Both  love  and  duty  beckoned  them,— the  House 
Of  God.     A  brooding  stillness  reigned  within 


148  THE    CONFIRMATION. 

His  Temple.     Hearts  were  raised  to  Heaven,  lips 
Hushed  in  prayerful  silence,  while  around 
The  sacred  Chancel  knelt  the  little  band 
Of  suppliants  for  grace.     Manhood  there  bowed 
His  lofty  head,  and  meekly  asked  of  long- 
Neglected  Mercy,  strength — to  finish  out 
The  remnant  of  his  days,  a  soldier  of 
The  Cross.     Youth  offered  up  the  morning  bloom 
And  freshness  of  its  heart  to  Heaven,  and  prayed 
For  aid  to  conquer  all  temptation,  and 
To  keep  a  strict,  close  walk  with  God.     Childhood, 
With    Childhood's   trust,  begged   wisdom    of  our 

Father, 
And  Orphanage  bespoke  protection  of 
His  love. 

Widowhood  was  there,  with  broken  heart 
And  tearful  eyes,  pleading  for  meek  submission 
To  His  will.     Sadness  and  joy  commingled 
Sympathy.     Hope's  glad,  expectant  bosom 
Throbbed  beside  the  pulse  of  Disappointment. 
Happiness,  that  bright  boon  of  young  natures, 


THE    CONFIRMATION.  149 

Touched  the  sombre  garb  of  Sorrow.     Innocence 
Bowed  down,  with  sage  Experience. 

One  common  goal 
Had  brought  their  several  paths  this  night 
Together,  and  in  God's  pure  sight,  their  wants 
And  pious  claims  were  equal.     Oh  'twas  sweet 
To  see  the  holy  man  approach  them  near, 
And  "laying  hands"  on  each,  ask  listening  Heaven 
For  blessings  on  them  all. 

Doubt,  lingering  by 
With  timid  footstep,  tearfully  embraced 
Faith's  proffered  blessing.     Penitence  bowed  down 
In  meek  humility,  and  from  his  heart 
Arose  sweet  incense  of  devotion.     To 
The  Sinner's  ear,  there  came  sad  tones  of  low 
And  earnest  pleading.     Would  he  longer  strive 
Against  God's  waiting  Spirit  ?     AVould  he  still 
Delay,  even  while  that  voice  yet  lingered 
In  his  ear,  which  oft  before,  as  now,  had 
Whispered,  "  Son,  give  me  thy  heart?" 

13* 


150  THE    CONFIRMATION. 

Ah,  never, 
Nevermore,  perhaps,  to  him  may  come  its 
Sweet,  remembered  music, — nevermore  the 
Kind  assurance  heard,  ''Ask,  and  it  shall  be 
Given, — seek,  ye  shall  find, — knock,  and  it  shall 
Be  opened  unto  thee."        *         *         *         * 

*****         Oh,  may  our  souls 
No  solace  find,  in  this  dim,  tearful  vale. 
Till,  shaking  off  Transgression's  fetter,  we 
May  all  approach  our  Father's  Mercy-seat ; 
And  listening  Seraphs,  waiting  round,  may  catch 
From  our  full  hearts,  and  bear  to  Heaven's  glad  ear 
The  cry,  "  Oh  Lord, — we  come  !" 


151 


TO  A  SLEEPING  INFANT. 

Little  one,  with  eyelids  closing 

Softly  to  their  wonted  rest, 
In  thy  mother's  arms  reposing, 

Folded  gently  to  her  breast — 

Say,  what  visions,  brightly  glowing. 
Float  before  thy  slumbering  eye. 

On  thy  heart  rich  dreams  bestowing 
Of  that  world  beyond  the  sky  ? 

Dost  thou  view  the  crystal  river, 

Sparkling  clear  through  meadows  green ; 

Wanderest  thou  where  dew-gems  quiver 
Mid  the  flowers  of  golden  sheen  ? 


152  TO   A    SLEEPING   INFANT. 

Lo  !  a  smile — I  know  its  meaning — 
Angel  forms  communion  keep  ; 

Spirits  from  on  high  are  gleaning 
Secrets  from  thee,  in  thy  sleep. 

They  are  asking,  sinless  darling. 
Of  the  path  untried  and  new, — 

Whether  here  so  bright  a  starling 
May  to  Heaven's  high  cause  be  true. 

List  their  message — o'er  thee  bending. 
Hear  them  in  low  whispers  say : 

"Lean  on  God,  His  truth  attending, 
Nought  shall  harm  thee  on  thy  Avay. 

"  Life  is  but  a  wavelet,  shaken 
By  a  storm  from  wintry  skies ; 

At  its  close  thine  eyes  shall  waken 
In  their  native  Paradise." 


153 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MUS.  FANNIE  S. 
GIBBONS, 

OF    HARRISONBURG,    VIRGINIA. 

The  breath  of  Spring  is  nigh — it  comes  once  more 
To  glad  the  Earth  where  Winter's  frown  hath 
been, 

And  violets  their  fragrant  incense  pour 

On  flowery  paths,  through  dewy  meadows  green ; 

But  all  in  vain  they  smile  for  us — we  mourn 

For  thee^  sweet  Blossom,  from  our  bosoms  torn. 

The  birds,  gay  warblers,  flit  from  tree  to  tree, 
Waking  glad  melody  in  forest  bowers. 

And  laughing  brooks  flow  on  in  sportive  glee — 
While  sunshine  crowns  the  swiftly-passing  hours ; 

Alas !  we  heed  them  not :  Death's  form  hath  passed 

In  at  our  threshold,  since  we  saw  them  last. 


154      ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  FANNIE  S.  GIBBONS. 

And  thou,  with  love's  high  hopes  fresh  in  thj  heart, 
Joy's  smile,  like  sunlight,  on   thy  fair,  young 
brow, 

Thou  wert  the  prize  won  by  his  cruel  dart ; 

Thine  the  dear  form  his  ruthless  hand  laid  low — 

Oh,  ne'er  before  hath  his  cold  fingers  pressed 

Their  frozen  clasp  around  a  purer  breast. 

Thine  was  a  spirit  pure  as  Summer  rose, 

When  morning  wakes  its  fresh,  young  leaves  to 
light. 
And  in  thy  heart  Affection  found  repose, 

While  holy  thoughts  there  nestled,  warm   and 
bright. 
But,  like  the  lily,  which  rude  storms  have  tried. 
Thou  bow'dst  thy  lovely  head  and  meekly  died. 

Yes,  tliou  art  dead  !     Deep,  deep  the  sod,  beneath 
Whence  Summer  violets  spring,  thou'rt  sleeping 
low. 

Say,  wilt  thou  not  return  when  May's  soft  breath 
O'er  timid  buds  and  meek-eyed  flow'rets  blow  ? 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  FANNIE  S.  GIBBONS.      155 

Ah,  vain  these  bitter  tears,  and  vain  the  prayer 
Affection  murmurs  in  its  wild  despair. 

Thou' It  not  come  hack  to  us,  though  early  flowers 
Still  pour  their  fragrance  on  the  balmy  air ; 

Though  "warbling  birds  make  glad  Earth's  lonely 
bowers. 
We'll  miss  tht/  voice,  dear  lost  one,  everywhere ; 

Yet  Faith  will  whisper,  in  low  accents  sweet, 

"  There  is  a  clime  above,  where  we  may  meet." 

Oh,  from  that  land  of  never-fading  bloom, 
Still  bend  on  us,  dear  one,  thy  pitying  gaze. 

While  from  the  darkness  of  thy  early  tomb 

We  humbly  strive  our  yearning  thoughts  to  raise ; 

Hover  around  us.  Angel-guide,  till  we 

Shall  quit  this  world  to  live  again  with  thee. 


156 


ASPIRATIONS. 

House   thee,  my  soul,  wake   all    thy   slumbering 

powers, 
Nor  longer  trail  thy  pinions  in  the  dust, — 
Bright  aims,  high  purposes,  demand  thy  zeal ; 
Upward  and  soar  !  thou  who  canst  dare  to  claim 
That  richest  heritage,  a  spirit-birth. 
What  are  the  sordid  gains  for  which  they  toil. 
Whose  highest  guerdon  is  the  world's  poor  praise  ? 
What  is  ambition,  wealth,  or  even  fame, 
But  empty  bubbles  broken  by  a  breath  ? 
These  do  but  mock  thy  cravings ;  put  thee  on 
Faith's  burnished  helmet,  Truth's  unfailing  shield. 
And  gird  thee  with  new  hope  and  trusting  love. 
And  patient,  firm  endurance ;  look  aloft. 
And  not  to  self  alone  devote  thy  powers ; 
Live  not  for  self  alone. 


ASPIRATIONS.  157 

Let  others  seek 
In  hidden  treasures  of  the  Earth  and  Sea, 
That  paltry,  perishable  thing  called  gold. 
Aye,  let  them  toil,  as  many  do  full  oft, 
AYith  aching  heart  and  brow  to  win  a  name; 
Or  let  them  grasp  at  potver,  to  learn  that  crowns 
Msij  jpress  the  brow  which  wears  them.     Not  for 

'    thee 
These  glittering  baubles,  not  for  thee,  my  soul. 
Earth  is  thy  battle-ground.  Heaven  tliy  fair  home; 
Strive  to  obtain  a  victor's  welcome  there. 
Live  for  mankind,  thy  Country — more  than  all. 
Live  for  thy  God,  my  Soul. 


14 


158 


L'ENVOL 

(FROM  "IMOGEX,"  AN  UNFINISHED  POEM.) 

I  HAVE  been  out,  dear  Love,  this  radiant  morning, 

In  the  broad  open  field  and  wikl  wood  near ; 
Amid  whose  vocal  shades  and  sunlit  meadows 

We  took  our  last  sweet  walk,  when  thou  wert 
here. 
The  Sun  shone  clear  as  then,  the  air  was  balmy, 

The  while  a  quiet  breeze  played  o'er  the  hill ; 
And  yet  my  heart  was  joyless,  love,  and  lonely. 

The  music  in  my  bosom  hushed  and  still. 
I  could  not  heed  the  warbling  matin-chorus. 

Which,  from  a  thousand   throats,  went  up    on 
high; 
Nor  did  I  mark,  as  then,  the  low,  sweet  humming 

Of  each  glad  insect,  as  it  murmured  by. 


l'envoi.  159 

Sad  memories  of  sad  things  bowed  down  my  spirit, 

And    dimmed   mine    eyes    to   Nature's    cliarms 
around, — 
Cold,  cruel  tones,  and  colder  Avords  of  parting, 

Blent  in  strange  discord  with  each  vocal  sound. 
Ah !  Love  and  Change,  ye  have  a  mystic  meaning. 

Which  only  they  Avho  know  ye  both  can  tell. 
With  me  Love  ne'er  could  know  such  cold  estrange- 
mcnt. 

Or  Friendship  even  breathe  such  cold  farewell. 

Rememberest  thou,  that  'tis  the  mild  September, 

That  month  to  Memory  and  to  Love  so  dear ; 
Why  is  it  then,  at  this  sweet,  hallowed  season, 

I  vainly  pause  thy  coming  step  to  hear  ? 
Thou  shouldst  be  with  me, — we  should  roam  together 

The  tangled  pathways  of  the  forest  dim. 
Together  pause,  as  oft  of  yore,  to  listen. 

As  Nature  upward  sends  her  choral  hymn. 
Yet  if  life  offers  thee  more  joy  in  absence, 

And  thou  more  happy  art,  when  far  away, 
I'll  welcome  loneliness  always,  and  sorrow, 

To  know  that  thou  art  always  glad  and  gay. 


160 


THE  WOODS  IN  SUMMER. 

The  woods,  the  woods !  ah,  what  delicious  calm 
Their  freshness  brings.     Once,  with  a  fevered  pulse 
And  weary  heart,  I  sought  these  cooling  shades, 
And  bj  this  flowing  rill,  so  clear  and  bright, 
I  sat  me  down  in  very  weariness. 
It  was  a  day  of  loveliness,  in  June, 
When  Nature  seemed  dressed  for  a  holiday, 
And  little  children  Avelcomed  it  with  joy, — 
Tossing  with  busy  hands  the  new-mown  hay, 
Or  wreathing  garlands  of  the  sweet,  wild  flowers, 
While  bird  and  bee  chorused  each  merry  peal 
Of  ringing  laughter.     All  the  air  around 
Echoed  the  hum  of  voices — every  breeze 
Wafting  a  breath  of  incense,  pure  and  sweet. 
And  blooming  fields  of  yellow,  waving  grain, 
Laughed  in  the  golden  sunlight. 


THE  WOODS  m  summer.  loi 

To  the  woods 
I  wandered  then,  as  now,  with  saddened  heart, 
,And  'mid  these  rural  sliades  found  sweet  repose. 
Ah,  it  is  well,  sometimes,  to  turn  aside 
From  all  the  foot-worn  paths  of  busy  life. 
And  seek  a  respite  from  its  clamorous  toil 
Amid  the  hush  of  solitude  like  this ; 
To  hear  no  sound  save  that  of  murmuring  rill, 
Or  foaming  cascade  leaping  to  the  light," 
Or,  now  and  then,  the  squirrel's  lonely  Ihirp 
Blending  in  chorus  with  the  wild  bird's  note;- 
Anon  the  sigh  of  zephyrs,  low  and  sweet, 
As  o'er  us  waves  the  leafy  canopy. 
Fraught  with  their  perfumed  breath.    To  watch  the 
while, 

Through  trembling  boughs,  the  calm,  blue,  smiling 

sky, 

And  think  of  those  who  early  walked  with  us 
Life's  changeful  paths  beneath  it ;  whose  blest  feet 
Now  press  tlie   "golden  streets"  beyond.     How 
sweet, 

Amid  such  scenes  as  this,  to  wander  o'er 

14* 


162  THE    WOODS    IN    SUMMER. 

Our  childhood's  faded  track,  and  dream  again 
Of  pleasant  rambles  through  the  forests  wild, 
With  playmates,  young  and  fair — in  every  tone 
To  catch  an  echo  dim  of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  ;" 
To  trace  in  every  leaf  and  flower  His  smile, 
Whose  hand  divine  hath  made  them — aye,  to  hear 
In  running  brook  and  foaming  torrent  wild, 
The  great  voice  of  our  Father. 

It  is  thus 
The  woods,  the  sweet,  calm  summer  woods,  become 
The  trysting  place  for  Memory  and  Hope  ; 
While  Faith,  the  meek-eyed  angel,  waiting  near, 
Unfolds  to  each  the  antitype  of  God. 


1G3 


TO  MY  HARP. 

Cherished  harp,  my  soul  is  saddened, 
Nought  can  soothe  like  thy  sweet  strains  ; 

Though  so  long  thy  chords  have  slumbered, 
I'll  awake  their  tones  a2;ain. 

Tears  I've  shed  since  last  we  parted, 
Burning  tears  of  grief  and  pain, — 

Hopes  I  fondly  nursed  have  perished, 
Nevermore  to  bloom  again. 

Once,  thy  notes  of  rapture  thrilled  me. 
Now  there's  wailing  in  thy  tone  ; 

And  thy  trembling  strings,  forsaken. 
Answer  to  the  Avind's  low  moan. 

Gentle  harp,  I  know  thy  meaning, 
For  my  soul  hath  felt  the  spell 


16-1  TO    MY    HARP. 

Left  of  loneliness  and  sorrow 

Bj  that  parting  word,  "  farewell.' 

Once  a  form  of  matchless  beauty, 
O'er  thee  swept  a  skilful  hand. 

And  a  voice  of  thrilling  sweetness 
Did  thy  gentle  tones  command. 

But  that  form,  so  fondly  cherished, 
JSTe'er  shall  know  thee  as  of  yore  ; 

And  that  voice,  so  sweet,  shall  waken 
To  thy  gladdening  strains  no  more. 

Heavenly  spirit !  stoop  and  hover 
Near  me,  as  I  touch  these  strino-s, — 

Catch  the  prayer  my  lips  shall  murmur, 
Waft  it  on  thy  angel  wings. 

When  my  soul,  no  longer  fettered. 
Is  from  Earth's  dull  bondage  free. 

May  we  strike  our  harps  together 
In  a  bright  Eternity. 


165 


THE  CHRISTENING. 

A  LITTLE  cherub-band,  in  snow-wliite  robes, 
Were  oiFered  at  the  chancel.     Loving  eyes 
Watched  tenderly  each  smiling  face,  and  arms 
Of  fond  affection  circled  them.     They  gazed 
In  wonder  now,  first  on  the  Pastor's  face, 
And  then  upon  the  Font  inquiringly, 
As  though  they  fain  would  ask  what  mystic  grace 
Lay  hidden  in  those  glistening  drops  for  them. 
Lo  !  as  the  Man  of  God  lifts  up  his  voice 
To  ask  of  Heaven  its  blessing,  close  they  cling 
In  helpless  weakness  to  the  yearning  breasts 
That  throb  for  them  with  parent  sympathy. 
And  as  he  takes  each,  in  his  pastoral  arms. 
They  timidly  shrink  back  as  half  afraid. 
Then  to  his  kindly  bosom  nestle  close. 
Now  as  he  lays  his  hand  upon  their  brows, 


166  THE   CHRISTENING. 

And  with  a  solemn  mien  closes  tlie  rite 

Whicli  pledges  them  to  Heaven,  Angels  pause 

To  hear  the  vow  of  consecration — bend 

To  seal  it  with  a  kiss,  and  lo  !  a  smile 

Stamps  the  impression  on  each  beaming  face. 

Ye  sinless  little  ones,  in  after  years. 

When  worldly  snares  are  set  for  your  weak  steps, 

And  Pleasure's  siren  tones  call  to  allure 

Your  hearts  from  virtue,  when  perchance  the  arms 

Which  clasp  you  now,  are  folded  stiff  in  Death — 

Hark  then !  "  a  still  small  voice"  will  softly  breathe 

Into  your  ear  this  truth  :  that  while  the  dew 

Of  childhood  innocence  lay  fresh  upon 

Your  hearts,  Love  brought  you  here  and  offered  you 

To  Jesus.     Let  that  memory  suffice 

To  keejD  you  ever  in  the  path  of  Truth; 

And  when  at  last  ye  shall  lie  down  to  rest 

Within  your  narrow  beds,  may  dewy  flowers 

Spring  over  breasts  which  never  lost  in  life 

The  2? earl  of  their  hai^tismal  purity. 


167 


GIVE  ME  THY  BLESSING,  FATHER 
DEAR. 

Give  me  thy  blessing,  father  dear  ! 

On  this,  my  bridal  eve ; 
Oh,  let  me  from  thy  tender  lips 

Some  whispered  word  receive. 
Some  accent  spoken  soft  and  low, 

In  earnestness  and  love. 
That  e'er  will  linger  in  my  heart. 

Its  talisman  to  prove. 
That  heart  is  very  sad  to-day. 

Though  bright  the  future  seems, — 
Our  parting  hour  approaching. 

Throws  a  shadow  o'er  my  dreams. 
I  think  of  all  tJioust  been  to  me. 

And  fear  lest,  when  I  roam, 


168  GIVE    ME    THY   BLESSING. 

/  may  not  find  such  changeless  love 
As  I  have  found  at  home. 

Give  me  thy  blessing,  father  dear ! 
'Twill  calm  my  troubled  heart ; 

One  only  balm  may  soothe  me  now. 
Thy  blessing  ere  we  part. 


1G9 


GUARDIAN  SPIRITS. 

[A  beautiful  feature  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Faith,  teaches  that 
each  one  of  us,  while  on  earth,  is  watched  over  continually  by  a 
Guardian  Spirit,  whom  Heaven  appoints  to  direct  and  shield  us ; 
and  that  this  viewless  counsellor  may,  perchance,  wear  the  form  of 
some  loved  one  who  has  "  gone  befoi'e"'  us  to  the  Better  Land.] 

It  is  a  holy  thought,  that  while  we  dwell, 
O'ershadowed  bj  the  gathering  clouds  of  Earth, 
Each  has  an  Angel  friend,  who  follows  near 
On  viewless  wing,  beside  us,  taking  note 
^'  Of  thorns  and  briery  places,"  ''lest  we  dash 
Our  foot  against  a  stone,"  or  darkly  grope 
On  Error's  brink, — that  Spirits,  pure  and  bright, 
Are  ever  speaking  to  us,  though  the  tones 
Of  their  mysterious  voices  are  not  heard. 
They  prompt  to  deeds  of  kindness,  love,  and  truth, — 
Alas,  that  we,  so  often  fail  to  heed 
Their  silent  whisperings.     They  float  around 

15 


170  GUARDIAN   SPIRITS. 

On  pinions  light  as  air, — we  ne'er  may  mark 
The  flutter  of  their  wings,  although,  perchance, 
They  oft  may  wear  the  features  we  have  loved. 
A  mother's  eye,  closed  long  ago,  may  beam 
In  their  soft  gaze ;  a  father's  arm  may  clasp 
In  their  embrace  ;  a  sister's  angel  smile 
Blend  in  their  look  of  love ;  a  brother's  form, 
Hid  from  us  by  the  grave,  may  wander  still 
Beside  us,  as  in  other  years,  when  life  and  hope 
Were  new.     Aye,  it  may  be,  that  dimpled  hands, 
"Which  we  saw  folded  in  the  clasp  of  Death, 
Are  beckoning  to  us  now  from  that  bright  sphere 
Where  ne'er  is  seen  a  vacant  cradle,  where 
The  little  sufiering  form  o'er  which  we  bowed 
For  days  in  agony,  hath  put  aside 
Its  clay,  and  weareth  now  a  Cherub's  wings. 
Babe,  Sister,  Mother,  though  I  may  not  know 
Who,  of  Love's  buried  trio.  Heaven  appoints 
To  guide  my  footsteps  here,  yet  I  have  felt 
New  influences  round  life's  pathway  thrown 
Since  ye  have  entered  the  eternal  gates. 
Joy  springs  anew,  as  Faith  breathes,  low  and  sweet, 
"  Reunion  there  forever." 


171 


SUMMERS  GONE. 

Ah  !  Summer's  gone !    The  Autumn  breezes  sighing, 

Murmur  its  requiem,  while  a  dirge-like  moan 
Comes  from  the  heart,  an  echo  dim,  replying — 

''  Summer's  gone !" 

Lo  !  in  the  forests  faded  leaves  lie  scattered, 
And  sweet  young  blossoms  of  their  freshness 
shorn. 
And  clinging  vines  that  ruthless  storms  have  shat- 
tered. 

Summer's  gone ! 

Pale  roses,  'neath  the  breath  of  Autumn  stooping. 
Will  lift  their  heads  jio  more  to  greet  the  morn ; 
And  lilies  too,  on  slender  stems  are  drooping — 

Summer's  gone ! 


172  summer's  gone. 

The  song  of  birds  is  hushed  mid  vernal  boAvers ; 

The  sportive  butterfly,  of  sunlight  born, 
No  more  is  seen  to  woo  the  gentle  flowers, — 

Summer's  gone ! 

The  fragrant  freshness  of  the  bright  June  weather, 

July's  warm  glory,  August's  mellow  dawn, — 
All,  all  have  passed,  bird,  bee  and  flower  together. 

Summer's  gone ! 

And  with  it,  too,  how  many  a  hope  hath  perished, 

Leaving  the  joyous  bosom  sad  and  lone, — 
Oh  !    where   are   now   the   day-dreams   they  once 
cherished? 

Summer's  gone ! 

Aye,  though  its  coming  throw  an  emerald  glory 

O'er  this  glad  world,  yet  hark  I — a  triumph  tone 
From  our  doomed  cities'^  shouts  the  welcome  story, 

''  Summer's  gone !" 

*  Norfolk  and  Portsmouth,  in  1Sj5. 


summer's    gone.  2-70 

Yes,  from  thj  homos,  Virginia,  smiles  have  vanished 

That  greeted  merrily  Spring's  rosy  dawn. 
From  stricken  hearts,  joy  hath  forc'er  been  ban- 
ished ; 

Summer's  gone ! 

Gone,  gone,~thc   Autumn   breeze   proclaims   it, 
sighing, 

While  to  the  ear,  there  eomes  an  echoing  moan 
From  Hope's  pale  embers  on  Love's  hearthstone 

^^  Summer's  gone!" 


15* 


174 


TO  HER  WHO  ASKED  ME  FOR  "A  POEM." 

WouLDST  liave  a  poem,  dear  one  ?  ah  !  then  look 
Abroad  this  sunny  morn  on  Nature's  face, — 
There,  is  true  poetry  in  unmeasured  lines, — 
There  God  himself  hath  brightly  pictured  forth 
His  Glory  and  his  Power.     The  mountains  old. 
In  lofty  grandeur  rear  their  hoary  crests 
To  meet  the  clouds.     And  yonder  sky,  so  soft, 
So  calm,  so  clear,  so  beautiful,  seems  made 
For  eyes  like  yours  to  gaze  on — eyes  that  see 
No  sombre  hues  in  aught — to  •which  indeed 
Life's  darker  scenes  arc  veiled — which  only  view 
Through   Hope's    gay  prism-glass   those   rainbow 

tints 
That  bless  the  gaze  of  Innocence.     Behold  ! — 
The  world  is  full  of  poetry, — its  herd 
Of  breathing  forms,  its  busy  insect  life, 


TO  HEU  WnO  ASKED  ME  FOR  ''A  POEM."   175 

Its    clouds,    its    storms,    its    sunshine,    Day   and 

Night,— 
Its  changing  seasons  all, — the  smiling  Spring 
In  her  rich  garniture  of  buds  and  flowers, — 
Glad  Summer  with  her  joyous  harvest-time, 
Sweet  meek-eyed  Autumn  with  her  plenteous  stores 
Of  golden  fruits — her  mild  October  sun — 
Her  scarlet  leaves  and  berries.     Winter,  too, 
With  his  cold  breath  and  glittering  icicles — 
His  ermine  robe  of  snow — his  Christmas  chimes, — 
Each  is  within  itself  a  poem  true. 
And  God  the  glorious  Author.     Thine  own  heart. 
My  gentle  friend,  thy  young,  gay,  careless  heart. 
Is  but  another  poem,  rich  and  rare. 
In  voiceless  thought  and  tuneful  numbers. 
Ah  !  let  its  study  be  thy  earliest  care ; 
So  "prune"  its    "rougher  lines," — so  guard  its 

truth. 
That,  when  at  last  thy  silent  pulses  tell 
The  volume  closed.  Truth,  like  a  "critic"  kind. 
May,  o'er  thy  Life's  bright  pages,  justly  write 
That  envied  sentence, — "Beautiful !" 


176 


MY  LITTLE  FLOWER. 

It  was  a  rosebud,  pure  and  sweet, 
That  blossomed  in  the  Spring ; 

And  to  my  heart  I  fondly  pressed 
The  little  winsome  thing. 

I  loved  it  for  its  fragile  form. 
And  for  a  brow,  so  fair, — 

It  seemed  a  glistening  pearl,  half  hid 
By  waves  of  shining  hair. 

I  loved  it  for  an  eye  of  blue, 

That  on  me  softly  shone ; 
But  I  have  thought  I  loved  it  most 

Because — it  was  ''my  own." 

So  closely  with  my  being,  did 
This  flower  of  beauty  twine. 


MY    LITTLE    FLOWER.  177 

That  soon  mj  thankless  mother-heart 
Became  an  Idol-shrine. 

And  God,  who  lent  the  bud  of  love, 
Called  back  to  Heaven  his  own ; 

Death  kissed  it  sleeping,  and  no  more 
Its  soft  eyes  on  me  shone. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  now 

The  little  winsome  thinir ; 
It  was  a  rosebud,  pure  and  sweet, 

That  perished  in  the  Spring. 


178 


TO  THE  WIND. 

What  wouldst  thou  teach  us  by  thy  murmurs  low, 
Oh,  melancholy  Wind  ? — what  message  bear, 
In  the  deep  cadence  of  thy  mournful  voice, 
From  the  Eternal  sphere  ?     We  know  thou  hast 
Some  mission  pure,  for  thou  receivedst  thy  tones 
From  Him  whose  will  the  elements  obey ; 
Thou  speakst  of  Him  in  every  murmuring  sigh 
That's  wafted  from  thy  breath,  and  oft  I  seem 
To  hear  His  voice  in  thine,  mysterious  Wind ! 
Surely  a  magic  power  is  given  to  thee, 
For  thou  dost  sometimes  wear  the  zephyr's  form, 
Bringing  to  flowers  soft  airs,  from  sunny  climes; 
Then,  with  one  touch  of  thy  strange,  mighty  wand. 
The  dew  is  scattered  from  the  lily's  cup, 
And  sunbeams  take  its  place.     Thou  dalliest  near 
The  violet's  bed,  and  lo  !  it  wakes  to  light — 


TO   THE   WIND.  179 

Seeking  some  sheltered  nook,  or  mossy  dell, 
Wherein  to  breathe  its  sweet  young  life  away. 
Capricious  Wind  !— by  one  rude  kiss  of  thine, 
I've  seen  the  woodbine  trailing  in  the  dust, 
And  proud  oaks  bend,  to  own  thy  tyrant  power ; 
Aye  more,  the  very  waves  are  made  to  roll 
Obedient  to  thy  sway.     Afar  from  home 
The  mariner  counts  thee  his  foe  or  friend, 
For,  of  his  loss  or  gain,  thou  seem'st  to  be 
Heaven's  instrument. 

What  is  thy  form,  and  what 
The  mien  thou  wearest  ?  Sometimes,  in  lonely  hours, 
I've  fancied  thee  a  spirit,  and  have  held 
Communion  with  thee  oft ;  half  hoping  then 
That  thou  wouldst  yet  disclose  the  features  fair 
Of  some  departed  face.     But  this  I  know 
Was  love's  vain  fantasy.     Thy  form  and  place- 
None  know  save  our  Father.     He  "  tempers  thee 
To  the  shorn  lamb ;"  and  I  will  be  content 
To  hear  thy  music  tones,  and  humbly  blend 
My  voice  of  grateful  praise  with  thine,  oh  Wind ! 


180 


A  CHILD'S  MORNING  HYMN. 

Father  in  Heaven  I  I  rise  once  more 
With  morning's  cheerful  light, 

To  thank  Thee  for  Thy  watchful  care 
Throughout  the  long,  long  night. 

Thy  goodness  kept  me  safe  from  harm 
While  darkness  round  me  lay, 

And  to  Thy  faithful  service  now 
I  consecrate  this  day. 

Let  every  thought  my  heart  employs 

Be  pleasing  in  Thy  sight; 
And  may  Thy  gracious  eye  behold 

Each  action  with  delight. 

Preserve  my  lips  from  sinful  speech, 
My  heart  from  evil  free ; 


A  child's  morxixg  hymn.  181 

Since  all  I  think,  or  say,  or  do, 
Is  known,  my  God,  to  Tlice. 

Bless  with  Thy  love  my  parents  dear, 

My  sisters,  brothers  kind ; 
Let  all  who  seek  to  know  Thy  truth 

That  heavenly  knowledge  find. 

Bless  too,  the  poor,  the  rich,  the  great, 

The  sick,  the  bond,  the  free ; 
And  may  the  Heathen  souls  be  taught 

To  worship  only  Thee. 

Throughout  life's  everchanging  scenes 

Be  Thou  my  constant  friend  ; 
From  aught  that  could  my  soul  deceive 

Preserve  me  to  the  end. 

And  when  from  Earth  I  pass  away 

In  Death's  severe  embrace. 
Father  !  oh,  may  I  then  enjoy 

Thy  presence  "  face  to  face." 
16 


182 


THE  BLIND  GIRL  WITH  FLOAYERS. 

(from  a  painting  by  leutze.) 

On  !  I  could  sit  for  hours 
And  gaze  upon  the  placid  beauty  of  thy  fair,  young 

face, 
S^Yeet  child  of  Night.     There  is  a  spell  of  quiet 

holiness 
Upon  thy  brow,  as  if  thy  God  had  placed  a  seal 

thereon, 
Marking  thee  out  as  something  that  the  obtrusive 

hand  of  harm 

And  guilt  must  touch  not. 

Round 
Thy  close-sealed  eye  a  shade  of  sadness  lingers,  yet 

there's  nought 
Of  restless  murmuring  at   thy  darkened  lot — no 

sombre  trace 


THE    BLIND    GIRL    WITH    FLOWERS.  183 

Of  dull  repining  at  the  will  of  Heaven.     There  is  a 

calm 
Of  pious  resignation  sadly  sweet,  and  throwing  o'er 
Thy  veiled   and   sightless  orbs,  a   halo  pure  and 

lovely 
As  thy  dreams  of  Light. 
What  were  thy  thoughts,  oh !  gentle  one,  what  were 

thy  thouglits  of  all 
The  glorious  things  that  gladden  earth,  tlie  sunlight, 

stars,  and  flowers  ? 
'What  thy  dreams  of  rainbow,  cloud,  and  mountain  ? 

Had  the  meadow's 
Quiet  stream  no  charm  for  thee,  save  the  low  mur- 
muring music 
Of  its  flow?  the  garden  gems  no  varied  form  or 

color  ? 
Ah,  thou  lov'dst  the  flowers,  for  thy  rounded  arm 

now  clasps  a  vase 
Of  gorgeous  buds  and  blossoms,  and  thy  curtained 

eyes  are  bent 
As  wont  to  catch  one  faint  gleam  at  their  loveli- 
ness.    Alas ! 


184  THE    BLIND    GIRL   WITH    FLOWERS. 

A  lonely  lot  was  thine,  yet  well  I  know  tliy  soul 

had  sweet 
Revealings  of  that  radiant  clime,  where  Heaven's 

own  cloudless  light 
Would  charm  thy  raptured  vision,  where  thy  lyre 

no  more  attuned 
To  sadness,  w^ould  awake  its  tones  of  holy  joy,  that 

thus 
The  very  earliest  ray  that  ever  blest  thy  being, 

shone 
Direct  from  God. 


185 


^'WE  HAD  BUT  ONE." 

We  had  but  one — lier  little  life 
Seemed  made  of  golden  hours, 

And  each  a  gladness  yielded,  like 
The  fragrant  breath  of  flowers. 

We  had  but  one — her  glowing  smile 

Of  innocence  and  mirth. 
Shone  like  a  star  in  wintry  skies. 

Around  our  lonely  hearth. 

We  had  but  one — her  angel  voice 

In  baby  accents  heard. 
Still  falls  upon  my  listening  ear 

Like  sweetest  song  of  bird. 
16* 


186  "we  had  but  one." 

We  had  but  one — how  sweet  the  task 
For  Love's  fulfilment  given, — 

Daily  to  Avatch  the  expanding  floAver, 
And  keep  it  pure  for  Heaven. 

How  sweet,  through  coming  years,  to  guide 

In  Truth's  unerring  way, 
Her  gentle  heart,  that  Sin  tempt  not 

Its  timid  thoughts  to  stray. 


And  Avhen  her  woman's  course  was  run 
Kissing  the  chastening  rod. 

How  sweet  to  close  her  eyes  in  peace. 
And  yield  her  back  to  God. 


Not  thus,  oh  Father,  hath  it  seemed 

Good  in  thy  sight  to  be ; 
Long  length  of  years  was  not  for  her. 

Nor  Woman's  destiny. 

But  let  us  not  arraign  Thy  love 
In  this  dark  hour  of  need  : 


*'WE    HAD    BUT    ONE."  187 

Enough,  Great  God,  to  know  Thou  Avilt 
Not  break  the  bruised  reed. 

Our  child  is  dead, — a  wintry  grave 
Holds  now  her  precious  clay, — 

"  Thy  will  be  done — 'twas  thine  to  give, 
And  thine  to  take  away." 


188 


MEMORY. 

An  !  I  love  to  remember  the  days  that  are  gone, 
And  the  pleasures  that  brightened  my  life's  early 

morn ; 
When  the  world,  bathed  in  sunlight  from  Hope's 

radiant  skies, 
Seemed  a  glad,  fairy  land  to  my  joy-beaming  eyes. 

Now,  alas  !  the  bright  prism  I  saw  it  through  then, 
Has  o'erdarkened  its  colors,  again  and  again ; 
I  still  gaze,  but  the  rainbow  tints  silently  fade. 
And  in  hiding  the  sunlight,  leave  only  the  shade. 

Yet  despite  the  world's  clamor,  its  turmoil  and  strife. 
Some  bright  flowers  will  spring  in  the  pathway  of 
life; 


MEMORY.  189 

And  the  fairest  to  me  are  those  blossoms  that  gleam 
All  along  the  green  banks  of  fond  Memory's  stream. 

They  shine  'mid  the  vapory  mists  that  arise 

Like  those  sunbeams  that  glisten  through  showery 

skies ; 
And,  whatever  the  future  may  bring  us  at  last, 
We've  the  fragrance  still  left  of  these  flowers  of  the 

Past. 

Ah  !  let  us,  then,  seize  the  glad  moments  which  fly, 
To  gather  Love's  flowers  in  our  pathway  that  lie, 
Since  when  all  that  is  present  lies  dead  in  the  past, 
'Tis  the  chaplct  of  Memory  that  crowns  us  at  last. 


190 


TO  BABY  FRANK,  SLEEPING. 

Sleep  on,  baby,  take  thy  rest 
Calmly  on  thy  mother's  breast, 
Slmnber  seal  thy  gentle  eye. 
While  she  sings  thy  "  lullaby." 

Sorrow  cannot  harm  thee  now, 
Care  nor  anguish  shade  thy  brow ; 
Eor  thy  heart  is  pure  and  free. 
And  thy  pulse  beats  healthfully. 

O'er  thee  bends  a  watchful  eye. 
Angel  forms  are  hovering  nigh — 
Baby,  thou  art  truly  blest. 
Pillowed  on  thy  mother's  breast. 


TO  BABY  FRANK,  SLEEPING.       191 

May  tlie  future  bring  no  night 
To  thj  soul's  unclouded  light; 
Ne'er  sin's  bitter,  rankling  dart, 
Throw  one  shadow  on  thy  heart. 

But  be  all  life's  dreams  as  briirht 
As  thy  childhood's  sleep  was  light, 
Baby,  mayst  thou  never  know 
Aught  of  sorrow,  sin,  or  woe. 


192 


SHALL  I  BE  FORGOTTEN  THUS  ? 

ON  PASSING  A  NEGLECTED  GRAVE  BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

INSCRIBED  TO  THE  LOVED  ONES  AT  HOME. 

An,  shall  I  be  forgotten  thus,  when  I  am  dead, 
"Will  not  e'en  a  soft  Daisy  bloom  over  my  head, 
When  these  eyes  have  long  closed  in  their  visionless 

sleep. 
Will  not  Love  o'er  my  grave  still  a  kind  vigil  keep? 

Aye,  and  when  the  glad  Spring  comes  with  verdure 

and  bloom, 
Will  not  loving  hands,  tenderly,  plant  round  my 

tomb 
Bright   Roses    and  Woodbine,   and  meek   Violets 

blue. 
Ever  loving  them  best,  because  I  loved  them  too. 


SHALL   I   BE   FORGOTTEN   THUS?  193 

Say,  will  yon  not  then  come,  at  the  soft  twilight 
hour, 

And  wander  awliile  through  the  lonely  Death-bower 
Where  sleeps  my  pale  form,  still  and  cold  in  its 
rest, 

Low  down   'mi,!  the  gloom  of  the  grave's  silent 
breast  ? 


Ah,  then,  as  with  soft  timid  footsteps  you  tread 
On  the  turf  which  so  mournfully  covers  my  head, 
Forget  all  thefaultB  which  the  vanished  life  knew. 
And  thinh  only,  the  heart  once  beat  warmly  for  yo'u. 


Though  parted  the  link   in  your  glad  household 
chain. 

Thus  let  Memory's  clasp  reunite  us  again, 
And  her  soft,  gentle  whispers  call  up  from  the  past 
Those  glad  moments  of  joy  which  death  could  not 
o'ercast. 


17 


194  SHALL    I   BE    FORGOTTEN    THUS? 

The  bright  days  of  our  childhood,  when,  joyous  and 

free, 
We  roamed  through  the  wildwood,  for  blossom  and 

bee, 
Or,  lingering,  knelt  by  the  brook's  tiny  wave. 
In  its  silvery  ripples  our  bosoms  to  lave. 

And  won't  you  recall,  too,  the  raptures  we  knew 
When  the  first  violets  lifted  their  heads  to  the  dew, 
And  the  glad  birds  came  back  from  their  green 

Southern  bowers. 
As  the  Spring  waked  to  light  the  long-slumbering 

flowers  ? 

Ah,  then,  do  not  forget  me  thus,  loved  ones  and 

true. 
When  hath  faded  the  sound  of  my  dying  adieu ; 
Aye,  though  parted  the  link  in  your  glad  household 

chain, 
Still  let  Memory's  clasp  reunite  us  again. 


19; 


WAKE  UP,  LITTLE  DARLING. 

(to  oxe  who  will  undeustand  it.; 

Wake  up,  little  darling,  the  Sun  is  awake, 
And  has  taken  his  place  in  the  skj ; 

Even  now,  the  sweet  flowers  are  opening  their 
leaves 
To  the  light  of  his  radiant  eje. 

AVakc  up— all  the  blossoms  and  buds  are  awake, 
And  the  meadow  is  covered  with  dew. 

But  the  bees  arc  not  chasing  the  butterflies  jet, 
Thej  are  waiting,  I  dare  saj,  for  you. 

Wake  up— the  sweet  birds  are  awake,  for  I  hear 
From  a  thousand  gay  flutterers  nio-h 

Glad  matins  of  praise,  like  a  chorus  of  love, 
Floating  up  to  the  Ruler  on  high. 


196  WAKE    UP,    LITTLE    DARLING. 


Wake  up ;  jou  are  losing  the  bloom  on  your  cheek, 
And  the  bright  morn  is  hastening  away, 

All  other  glad  things  are  awake  and  astir. 
Ah  !  then,  why  will  Mary  delay  ? 

Up,  up  to  your  books,  while  the  birds  are  about. 
They  are  busy  e'en  now  in  the  bowers, — 

Learn  a  lesson  of  industry,  darling,  from  them, 
And  be  gentle  and  pure  like  the  flowers. 


19T 


TO  AN  ANGEL-SPIRIT.* 

I  SADDEN  at  thy  mem'ry,  darling  child, 
As  thoughts  of  thy  dark  fate,  thy  painful  doom. 
Come  up  before  me  now, — dread  picturings 
Of  agony  and  death.     Thy  slumbers  deep. 
So  sweet  and  tranquil,  full  of  angel-dreams. 
And  then  the  fearful  wakening  ! — senses  lost 
In  wild  bewildering  terror,  as  the  flames 
Hissed  around  thy  pillow  angrily.     Thy  look 
Of  dread  surprise  to  find  thyself  alone. 
And  then  thy  piteous  cry  for  '''Help!'' 

Ah,  could 
Thy  mother's  arm  have  clasped  thee  then,  or  had 

*  Mary,  only  daughter  of  Dr.  Gilmer,  of  Lynchburg,  Va., — 
the  recollection  of  whose  melancholy  fate  is  still  painfully  fresh 
in  the  minds  of  her  many  friends. 

17* 


198  TO    AN    ANGEL-SPIRIT. 

Her  voice  been  near  to  wliisper  courage,  thou 
Miglitst  yet  have  dared  the  window's  height,  and 

leapt 
To  arms  outstretched  to  save  thee.     But  the  while 
She  kept  a  midnight  watch  in  her  lone  home, 
Over  thy  baby-brother,  shedding  tears, — 
Such  tears  as  only  fall  from  loving  eyes, — 
And  mingling  them  with  prayer,  that  God  would 

smile 
Upon  her  cradled  boy,  and  give  him  health, — 
She  little  dreamed  that  thou,  her  bright-eyed  child, 
Her  gentle  daughter,  at  that  very  hour 
Wrestled  with  Death  by  fire  ! 

Tell  us.  Angel -child, 
What  thoughts  came  to  thee  in  that  fearful  hour. 
Of  home  and   friends,   and   "mother."     Did   lier 

name, 
Coupled  with  that  of  God,  go  up  to  swell 
Thy  martyr-shrieks  of  agony  ?     Did  scenes 
Of  bygone  blessings  thou  shouldst  know  no  more, — 
Thy  father's  features  and  thy  brother's  smile, 


TO   AN   AXGEL-SPmiT.  199 

Float  in  thy  visions  ?  or  didst  thou  breathe  again 
The  little  prayer,  learned  at  thy  mother's  knee, 
Which  lingered  on  thy  lips  as  sleep  that  night 
Stole  gently  o'er  thine  eyelids  ?     Didst  thou  say 
"  Our  Father?"  wilder  sobbing  forth  the  words 
"Thy  will  be  done!"  and  as  the  approaching  flames 
Drew  near  and  nearer,  piercino;  the  red  nio-ht. 
With  a  most  piteous  cry,  ^'Deliver  me 
From  eviW 

Ah,  we  may  not  knoAV  hoAV  passed 
Those  awful  moments  with  thee — but  we  know 
That  ere  the  stars  had  paled  in  the  soft  sky, 
Or  night  withdrawn  her  mantle  from  the  earth, 
That  grayer  ivas  ansivered.    Daylight  saw  thy  form 
Consumed  to  ashes, — Dcatli  had  done  his  work 
And  thy  pure  soul  had  entered  its  new  life  ; 
For  Christ  the  Lord  had  taken  it  to  dwell 
Henceforth  with  Him. 

Oh,  it  was  better  thus 
To  enter  Heaven  through  a  gate  of  fire 


200  TO   AN    ANGEL-SPIRIT. 

With  soul  untainted,  and  with  childhood's  dew 
Yet  resting  on  the  heart,  than  live  to  see 
Thine  innocence  depart  with  length  of  years. 
Beloved  child,  thy  fate  to  us  seems  dark, 
And  fond  lips  breathe  thy  name  mid  gushing  tears ; 
Yet  there  will  come  a  time  (God's  purposes 
Revealed),  when  we  will  say  of  thee,  "  'Tz's  ivell^'' — 
And  Angels  shall  respond,  ^' Yea,  it  is  well." 


201 


A  WELCOME. 

^0    TUE    MT.    AIRY   h'oUSEHOLD    AND    GUESTS,    WHO    VISITED    CLIFF 
COTTAGE  IN  THE  SUMMER  OF  1858. 

HarIv,  'tis  heard  in  simnj  glades 

Glowing  with  delight, — 
Glad  with  merrj  song  of  birds, 

Musical  and  briirht. 

Welcome  to  our  vallej  fair. 

And  to  our  mountains  old, 
Where  Nature's  gentlest  charms  arc  blent 

With  loftiest  grandeur  bold. 

Welcome  to  our  whispering  woods, 

And  to  our  fields  so  fair, 
Where  sweetest  voices,  chiming,  fill 

The  glowing  summer  air. 


202  A  WELCOME. 

Welcome,  list,  the  echo  flies  ; — 

Each  passing  zephyr  bends 
To  catch  the  sound,  whose  murmur  breathes 

A  welcome  to  you,  friends. 

E'en  timid  flowers  look  meekly  up, 

As  eager  to  prolong 
The  joyous  tone,  w^iile  bird  and  bee 

All  share  our  welcome  song. 

Each  beaming  face,  with  rapture  filled, 

A  gladness  new  imparts ; 
Aye,  welcome  to  our  home  and  hearth, 

Thrice  welcome  to  our  hearts. 


203 


TO  A  YOUNG  SPARROW. 

WHICn  HAD  ESCAPED  FROM    THE  NEST,  AND    FLUTTERED    NEAR  ME 
IN  AN  EVENING  WALK. 

Come,  little  timid  nestling,  fear 

No  danger,  pray,  from  me ; 
I  would  not  harm  one  feather  which 

Our  God  hath  given  to  thee. 

I  would  not  give  thy  downy  wing 

One  single  stroke  of  pain  ; 
I'd  only  guide  thy  wandering  fliglit 

Back  to  the  nest  again. 

Hark  !   now  thy  mother  calls  for  thee 

In  mournful  chirping  tone. 
She  knows  not  where,  in  this  dim  wood, 

Her  little  one  hath  flown. 


204  TO    A   YOUXG    SPAlirtOW. 

I'll  place  tliee  where  her  watching  eye 
May  see  thee  with  delight ; 

For  well  I  know  her  fears  have  marked 
The  coming  of  the  night. 

She  thinks  with  terror  and  alarm 
Of  "Pussy"  lurking  nigh, 

With  ready  paw^  to  seize  thee  when 
No  rescuing  hand  is  by. 

Ah,  oft  do  little  ones  like  thee 
Give  pain  to  parents  dear. 

By  wandering  from  the  path  of  right, 
With  danger  threatening  near. 

And  little  recking  of  the  hearts 
That  sigh  for  them  in  vain. 

They  rove,  till  conscience,  like  a  guide. 
Conducts  them  back  again. 

This  lesson  teach  them,  little  bird, — 
Tliat  though  thy  steps  may  stray, 


TO   A   YOUNG    SPARROW.  205 

Til  Oil  hast  not  reason^  as  they  have, 
To  show  thee  wisdom's  way. 

And  tell  them  that  the  same  great  hand 
Which  made  both  them  and  you, 

Hath  marked  for  each  some  destiny, 
Your  life  long  to  pursue. 

Ye  both  are  objects  of  his  care. 

The  creatures  of  his  will ; 
Good  children  then  should  always  strive 

His  wishes  to  fulfil. 

Thy  little  warbling  throat  was  made 

His  lofty  praise  to  sing. 
And  he  designed  thy  form  to  float 

Through  air,  on  lightsome  wing. 

Go  then,  thou  little  trembler,  go — 
Heaven's  azure  dome  is  thine ; 

Thou  hast  life's  freedom,  I  its  cares — 
Thy  Maker  though  is  mine. 
18 


206  TO   A  YOUNG   SPARROW. 

Why  He  hath  differed  thus,  our  paths, 

We,  finite,  may  not  tell ; 
But  this,  I  know, — He  cannot  err, 

Who  ''  doetli  all  things  welV 


207 


A  CHILD'S  EVENING  HYMN. 

As  Day's  bright  splendor  fades  from  view, 
And  Night's  dark  shades  appear, 

Father  in  Heaven  !  low  at  Thy  feet 
I  once  again  draw  near.     . 

For  all  the  blessings  Thou  hast  strewn 

Around  my  path  to-day, 
I  thank  Thee,  though,  I  know  the  least 

My  praise  can  ne'er  repay. 

If  I  have  sinned  in  word  or  deed, 

Or  thought  an  evil  thing ; 
Forgive,  and  let  me  sleep  beneath 

The  shelter  of  Thy  wing. 


208  A  child's  evening  hymn. 

Bless  all  I  love,  and  let  Thy  grace 
Extend  the  wide  world  o'er, 

Till  every  tongue  shall  speak  Thy  praise, 
And  Thy  great  Name  adore. 

And  when  mine  eyes  shall  close,  to  sleep 
Through  Death's  long,  fearful  night, 

Father,  oh,  may  I  wake  to  see 
Thy  face,  in  realms  of  light ! 


209 


MUSINGS  IN  A  CHURCHYARD. 

I  TOO  shall  (lie — the  day  will  come 
I  know  not  when,  or  where ; 

When  stranger  eyes  will  mark  my  grave 
Out  in  the  still,  soft  air. 

Yes,  busy  hands  will  heap  the  earth 

Above  my  silent  breast, 
Then  careless  turn  to  other  tasks, 

And  leave  me  to  my  rest. 

I  know  not  if  the  opening  flowers 
Of  Spring  shall  o'er  me  wave. 

Or,  if  the  Summer's  fervid  sun, 
Shall  light  my  new-made  grave. 

18* 


210  MUSINGS    IN   A    CHURCHYARD. 

I  know  not  if  the  Autumn  winds,  • 
Their  requiem  tones  shall  sigh, 

Or,  if  the  "Winter  snows  shall  shroud 
The  lone  spot  where  I  lie. 

It  may  be  at  the  morning  hour, 
When  Nature  fairest  seems. 

And  young  hearts,  gay  w^ith  life  and  hope, 
Wake  from  their  rosy  dreams ; 

It  may  be  when  the  setting  Sun 

Lights  up  the  parting  day. 
And  little  children  homeward  haste. 

From  coming  shadows  gray, 

That  friendly  hands  will  bear  me  out. 

And  lay  me  calmly  down. 
To  sleep  my  last,  long,  dreamless  sleep. 

Low  in  the  quiet  ground. 

It  matters  not — I  shall  not  heed 
The  scenes  above  my  head. 


MUSINGS   IN    A    CHURCHYARD.  211 

Or  know,  when  friendly  footsteps  pause 
Around  mj  narrow  bed. 

I  shall  not  heed  the  falling  clods, 
That  hide  my  slumbering  clay, 

Or  mark  when  sad  or  careless  eyes 
Turn  from  that  mound  away. 

One  wish  I  have,— that  when  I  die. 

All  earthly  cares  removed, 
My  sleep  may  be  that  blessed  sleep 

Ood  giveth  His  beloved. 


212 


TO  A  REMEMBERED  DREAM. 

Comb  back,  sweet  dream,  come  back,  and  fill  my 
spirit 

With  those  bright,  golden  visions,  flown  too  fast ; 
Not  once,  but  oft  come  back,  and  float  around  me, 

Thou  viewless  guardian  of  the  banished  past. 

Fond  dream,  beguiling  to  new  life  and  gladness 
The  buried  memories  of  other  years. 

And  thrilling  with  new  joy  my  inmost  being. 
Till  slumber  breaketh,  and  I  wake — to  tears. 

When  on  life's  sky  I  see  no  bow  of  promise. 
No  golden  sunlight  gleaming  o'er  my  way. 

When  all  is  gloom  around,  within,  about  me. 
And  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary,  is  my  day  : 


TO    A    REMEMBERED    DREAM.  213 

Come   then,  bright   dream,   as    darkness   gathers 
round  me, 

And  slumber  soothes  the  sorrow-laden  brow, 
Unfold  once  more  those  visions  of  past  hours. 

Glad  moments,  which  I  ne'er  again  may  know. 

Dear  dream,  come  back,  and  cheer  mj  weary  spirit 
With  Hope's  bright  golden  visions,  flown  too  fast ; 

Sleeping  or  waking,  do  thou  float  around  me. 
Oh,  guardian  angel  of  the  banished  past. 


214 


THE  STRICKEN  HEART'S  LAMENT. 

[Written  at  the  request  of  bereaved  parents,  to  commemorate  the 
mournful  fate  of  a  beloved  child, — James  Ward  (eldest  son  of 
James  B.  Ward,  Esq.,  of  Campbell  Co.,  Va.),  who  lost  his  life,  by 
the  accidental  discharge  of  a  gun,  from  his  own  hand,  on  the  31st  of 
October,  1856.] 

Oh,  laughing  sunsliine,  shedding  light 
O'er  mountain,  stream,  and  lea. 

Why  bring'st  thou  not  a  ray  of  joy 
To  cheer  my  home,  and  me  ; — 

Alas  !  in  thy  glad  beams  I  trace 

One  vision  fair, — an  angel  face. 

In  all  bright  things  that  speak  to  us 

Of  innocence  and  mirth  ; 
The  glittering  star,  the  murmuring  rill, 

The  frail,  young  flowers  of  earth, — 
In  all  I  trace  in  lines  of  joy 
The  features  of  my  buried  boy. 


THE   STRICKEN   HEART'S   LAxMENT.  215 

And  in  each  sighing  tone  that  comes 

On  wintrj  breezes  borne ; 
Whether  from  Kature's  haunts  bereft 

Or  firesides  drear  and  lone  ; 
A  whispering  voice  in  accents  wild 
Still  speaks  of  mj  departed  child. 

Lost  one  ! — thj  smile  returns  again 

In  Sunlight,  Star/ and  Flower, 
But  oh,  a  darker  vision  haunts 

This  lonelj  musing  hour  ; 
Methinks  I  see  the  current  warm 
Which  stained  thj  stricken  youthful  form. 

Oh,  Memory  !   thou  canst  paint  for  us 

No  mournful  portrait  fair, 
Of  features  paled  by  slow  disease. 

Or  wasting  lines  of  care  ; — 
Love  ne'er  was  privileged  to  keep 
A  "  last  watch"  o'er  his  fevered  sleep. 


216  THE    STRICKEN   HEART'S    LAMENT. 

Gone  from  us  !  wert  thou  tired  of  life 
SAveet  Boj,  that  thine  own  hand 

Should  snap  the  subtle  cord,  and  stay 
The  swiftly  flowing  sand  ; — 

Was  there  no  charm  in  home  and  hearth 

To  bind  thee,  for  awhile,  to  Earth  ? 

Age  pleads  full  oft  for  length  of  years, 

And  pleads  as  oft  in  vain ; 
Care,  too,  world-weary,  murmurs,  yet 

Would  run  the  race  again, — 
And  must  thou  quit  the  shores  of  Time 
Ere  Life  had  passed  its  flowery  prime  ? 

r 

Sweet  Boy,  had  crime  its  guilty  blight 
Thrown  o'er  thy  heart  a  shade. 

And  thou  hadst  ended  thus  the  woes 
Sin's  blasting  touch  had  made, — 

Ah,  then,  I  might  have  borne  to  see 

The  warm,  fresh  life-blood  mantle  thee. 


THE   STRICKEN   HEART'S   LAMENT.  217 

Or,  if  Disease,  with  conquering  strength, 

Had  breathed  upon  thy  brow, 
And  restless  hours  of  anguish  paled 

Thy  young  cheek's  fervent  glow  ; — 
I  might  have  closed  the  beaming  eye. 
And  meekly  bowed  to  see  thee  die. 

But  in  my  heart  a  vision  dwells, 
A  dark  scene,  strange  and  wild ; 

Yet  as  I  gaze.  Heaven's  mystic  light 
Surrounds  my  phantom  child  ; — 

And  radiant  forms  of  beauty  glide 

About  thee,  sinless  Suicide ! 

I  see  thee,  as  on  that  bright  morn. 

When,  full  of  hope  and  joy, 
Thou,  like  a  warbling  bird,  went  forth 

To  come  not  back,  my  boy  ; 
With  gun  in  hand,  and  merry  heart. 
Sure  thou  must  try  the  Huntsman's  art. 
19 


218  THE    STRICKEN   HEAET'S   LAMENT. 

And  soon  the  sunlit  rocks  and  hills 

Re-echoed  with  the  sound, 
Thy  watchful,  eager  eye,  meth ought 

Some  luckless  prize  had  found, — 
But  oh,  too  soon  the  echo  came, — 
A  wild  shriek  coupled  with  thy  name. 

And  then,  to  our  half  palsied  arms 
Thy  bleeding  form  was  given ; 

The  fatal  ball  had  reached  thy  heart, 
Life's  golden  chords  were  riven ; 

We  prayed,  begged,  wept,  in  anguish  wild. 

That  Death  would  yield  our  guiltless  child. 

But  all  in  vain, — no  tears  could  heal 
The  dark  wound  in  thy  side ; 

The  crimson  life-drops,  fresh  and  warm, 
Still  flowed — a  streaming  tide ; 

And  when  upon  thy  face  so  fair 

We  gazed,  no  answering  smile  was  there. 


THE    STRICKEN    IIEART'S    LAMENT.  219 

Pale,  cold  and  still — thy  boyish  face 

Ne'er  looked  more  sweetly  fair, 
Than  when  Death's  silent  An2:el  left 

His  frozen  impress  there, — 
It  seemed  as  though  some  Cherub  bright 
Had  clothed  each  lineament  in  light. 

My  boy, — Spring's  balmy  touch  may  wake 

All  other  gladsome  things  ; 
The  birds,  the  warbling  birds  may  come, 

With  sunshine  on  their  wings, 
But  oh,  their  sweetest  songs  will  be 
But  mournful  requiems  for  thee. 

And  on  each  verdant  hillside  fair 
Earth's  dewy  flowers  may  spring, 

And  there  the  Butterfly  may  float 
Its  rainbow-tinted  wing. 

But  Summer-flowers  will  only  wave 

Their  fragrant  incense  o'er  thy  grave. 


220  THE    STRICKEN    HEART'S    LAMENT. 

And  yet,  I  would  not  call  thee  back 
To  tread  Life's  patli  with  me  ; 

I  only  ask,  my  angel  boy, 
That  I  may  go  to  thee, 

When  Time's  resistless  cares  are  o'er. 

And  pain  shall  grieve  the  heart  no  more. 

Child  of  my  love,  awhile  farewell, 

I  feel  thy  presence  nigh ; 
Chiding  each  wayward,  murmuring  thought, 

Each  vain  rebellious  sigh, — 
Then  let  my  meek  submission  tell 
His  praise,  A\'ho  "  doeth  all  things  tvcll.'* 


221 


TO  A  AVITHERING  ROSE, 

I    UAD    NURSED    IN    MY    CHAMBER. 

Alas  !  thou  art  fading,  my  beautiful  flower  ! 
To  honor  no  more  either  garden  or  bower, — 
Though  Spring  with  its  glories  may  come  and  restore 
All  its  beauteous  gifts  to  the  glad  earth  once  more ; 
Though  Morn,  fresh  and  balmy,  may  gather  and 

shed 
Cool  dews  on  thy  gentle  and  languishing  head ; 
Though  Evening's  soft  breeze  may  still  kiss  thee 

and  sigh. 
As  in  low  fitful  murmurs  it  passes  thee  by : 
Not  Morn's  dewy  fragrance  nor  Evening's  pale  light, 
Can  give  back  thy  freshness  or  save  thee  from  blight ; 
Yet  I  love  thee  the  more,  for  in  moments  of  sadness. 
Sweet  Rose,  thou  hast  wakened  my  spirit  to  glad- 
ness; 

19^- 


222  TO    A   WITHERING   ROSE. 

And  now  I  will  press  tliy  frail  stem  to  my  heart, 
And  there  let  thy  beauty  and  fragrance  depart. 
Ah,  well  I  remember,  pale,  perishing  flower ! 
The  Morn  when  I  pluck' d  thee  from  Flora's  gay 

bower ; 
Thy  leaves  were  all  laden  with  zephyrs  and  dew. 
While  the  Sun  o'er  thy  beauty  a  radiance  threw; 
And  sure  from  the  deference  shown  thee,  I  ween, 
Thou  wert  of  that  bower  the  pride  and  the  Queen. 
By  thy  side  the  young  hyacinths  modestly  grew, — 
At  thy  feet  were  the  violets,  glistening  with  dew ; 
All  around  the  young  flowers  peep'd  forth  to  the 

light. 
While  the  birds  gaily  carolled  their  song  of  delight. 
How  changed  now  the  scene :  surly  Winter  has  come. 
And  invaded  with  boldness  my  own  little  room ; 
Even  thou,  the  sweet  gem  that  I've  cherished  so 

much. 
Art  yielding  thy  bloom  to  his  cold,  freezing  touch. 
AVhat  lesson,  ah,  what  wouldst  thou  teach  me,  my 

flower. 
By  the  pale,  yellow  hue  that  spreads  o'er  thee  this 

hour  ? 


TO   A   "WITHERING   ROSE.  223 

Must  I  learn  from  thy  gentle  and  lovely  decay, 
That  the  bright  things  of   Earth  are  all  passing 

away? 
Then  long  shall  I  bless  thee,  that  thou  dost  impart 
So  faithful  a  truth  to  my  thoughtless  young  heart. 


224 


A  MORNING  AT  CLIFF  COTTAGE. 

All  Nature  wakes  with  that  soft,  peering  light 

Which  bright'neth  yonder  Orient.     See  the  flowers, 

With  what  new  joy  they  lift  their  pearly  cups 

To  drink  the  fallen  dew,  while  each  young  leaf 

Stirs  with  a  new-born  grace  to  the  soft  touch 

Of  the  light  zephyr,  passing  o'er  its  face. 

I  bless  God  for  the  flowers,  the  dewy  flowers, — 

Their  fragrant  breath  wakes  in  my  heart  new  hopes. 

And  when  at  early  morn  I  rouse  from  sleep. 

And  leave  the  quiet  stillness  of  my  room 

To  watch  their  perfumed  welcome  to  the  day, — 

Methinks  I  see  in  this,  an  emblem  meet 

Of  that  delight  the  spirit  must  enjoy 

When  first  its  clay-sealed  eyes  open  to  greet 

The  radiant  light  of  Heaven.     Ah  !  silently 

Ye  teach,  but  sweetly,  voiceless  flowers !     Ye  speak 


A   MORNIXa   AT    CLIFF   COTTAGE.  225 

Like  Angels,  without  words,  but  je,  like  them. 

Speak  truthfully,  and  bj  your  frailty  teach 

The  young  heart  sober  lessons.     Deep  within 

Your  fragrant  bosoms  lie  mysterious  truths, 

If  man  would  only  heed  them.     Fresh  and  fair 

Ye  hang  upon  your  stems  this  glowing  morn, 

The  dew  yet  glittering  like  sparkling  gems 

Upon  each  petal,  till  the  passing  breeze 

Shakes  off  the  shining  drops,  and  leaves  each  tint 

Of  rainbow  beauty,  brighter  than  before. 

Alas  !  too  soon  beneath  a  noontide  sun, 

Your  slender  heads  will  droop,  and  when  at  eve, 

I  come  again  to  seek  your  perfumed  smile, 

A  faded  hue  will  rest  upon  your  leaves ; 

Your  blush  and  dewy  freshness,  vanished,  gone. 

And  in  my  pathway,  I  shall  soon  behold 

A  group  of  withered  flow'rets,  blighted,  dead. 

Ah,  such  is  life,  frail  blossoms  !     Such  the  end 

Of  hopes  that  waked  in  childhood's  golden  morn 

Promise  of  coming  joys.     They  yielded  then 

Their  fragrant  freshness  to  the  early  dawn 

Of  our  brief  day ;  and  when  we  go  back  now. 


226  A   MORNING   AT   CLIFF   COTTAGE. 

To  seek  them  by  the  wayside  of  the  Past, 

We  only  see  around  us  faded  Jlo2vers. 

Yet  why  pause  now,  at  this  delicious  hour. 

To  muse  upon  the  sober  truths  of  life  ? 

Enough  to  know,  that  Nature  hath  put  on 

Her  robe  of  fairest  loveliness  to-day ; 

That  round  me  breathe  her  richest  harmonies 

Of  thankfulness  and  joy.     Summer  birds 

Fly  near,  on  gladsome  wing,  from  tree  to  tree. 

And  from  their  warbling  throats  gush  forth  sweet 

notes 
Of  welcome  to  the  morn. 

And  e'en  the  vine 
Of  the  Clematis,  which  above  me  climbs 
Its  tendrils  sweet,  hath  oped  its  starry  eyes, 
To  share  the  morning's  favor  with  the  Rose, 
While  'neath  the  craggy  cliff  that  skirts  our  home. 
The  murmuring  ''  Hawksbill"  sings  itself  along — 
Dashing  its  sportive  ripples  to  the  light, 
Or  hiding  'mid  the  shades  of  forests  dim 
Its  tuneful  flow.     And,  now  afar  I  see. 


A   MORNIXG   AT   CLIFF   COTTAGE.  227 

Above  jon  mountain's  brow  the  dazzling  Sun, 
Kising  in  glorious  majesty,  to  give 
New  radiance  to  the  scene.     His  glowing  face 
Bathes  hill  and  field,  and  flowing  stream  in  light. 
And  'neath  the  bright  effulgence  of  his  smile. 
Earth  seems  a  garden  spot  of  Eden  bloom. 
Oh,  God  I  m  J  heart  is  full  of  gushing  praise  ; 
I  bless  thee  for  the  Morn,  and  I  would  fain" 
Bless  thee,  kind  Father,  too,  for  the  deep  joy 
Its  freshness  gives.     I  would  lift  up  my  voice 
Amid  this  din  of  Nature's  melodies. 
And  say,  with  Bird,  and  Stream,  and  Flower, 
I  thank  Thee,  Great  Creator,  that  I  live. 


228 


WRITTEN  FOR  A  MOTHER, 

IN    HER    son's    bible,    ON    HIS    LEAVING    HOME    FOR    COLLEGE, 

"  My  son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not." 
Prov.  1  :  10. 

The  time  has  come,  when  thou  must  go 
Forth  from  thy  mother's  side ; 

The  world,  its  dangers  and  its  snares, 
Now  opens  for  thee  wide. 

Thou'lt  miss  her  guiding  hand,  my  boy, 
Her  love's  fond  watch  o'er  thee. 

Yet  may  this  Book,  her  parting  gift. 
Thy  guide  and  counsel  be. 

When  sin  allures  with  siren  tongue, 
And  tempts  thy  feet  to  stray. 


WRITTEX   FOR   A    MOTHER.  229 

Let  this  bright  waj-mark  point  thee,  tlien, 
To  Christ,  the  Living  Waj. 

When  proud  Ambition  speeds  thee  on 

To  glory  and  to  fame, 
Seek  first  God's  kingdom,--love  thou  best 

A  Christian's  holy  name. 

When  Hope's  glad  rainbow  shines  above, 

And  all  seems  well  with  thee, 
Prove  thine  own  heart,  and  let  this  book 

That  heart's  pure  standard  be. 

Dark  days  will  come— the  brightest  sky 

Must  sometimes  be  o'ercast, 
Search  then  thy  Bible,  trust  in  God, 

Be  faithful  to  the  last. 


20 


230 


AH,  I  FELT  I  WAS  FORGOTTEN ! 


Ah,  I  felt  I  was  forgotten, 

I  knew  it  by  the  spell 
Of  loneliness,  and  dark  despair, 

Which  on  my  spirit  fell. 
It  haunted  me  in  Pleasure's  halls 

When  all  around  were  gay, 
It  came  when  joyous  mirth  and  glee 

Held  everywhere  their  sway. 

I  could  not  smile  when  others  smiled. 

In  vain  they  sought  to  chide, — 
Pale  Memory,  a  spectre,  stood 

Forever  at  my  side. 
And  pointing  with  her  finger  wan. 

To  pictures  of  the  past, 
She  shut  from  out  my  tearful  heart 

Fond  hopes,  too  hright  to  last. 


All,    I   FELT   I   WAS   FORGOTTEN.  231 

She  bade  me  turn  to  bjgone  years 

When  I  was  all  to  thee ; 
When  gushing  from  thy  heart,  there  flowed 

A  fount  of  love  for  me. 
Of  late,  a  fairer  brow  hath  charmed 

That  fickle  heart  of  thine, 
A  siren-voice  hath  lured,  and  won 

The  heart  that  once  was  mine. 

What  bitter  tears  these  eyes  have  wept, 

I  may  not  pause  to  tell ; 
Suffice,  the  pang  is  over  now, 

I  too  can  say  farewell. 
And  I  can  backward  gaze,  nor  feel 

One  single  fond  regret, 
I  C'An  forgive,  too,  thy  false  part, 

Bo  aught,  but  not  forget. 


232 


A  LITTLE  HINT  TO  LITTLE  BEAUX. 

I'll  tell  yon  lads,  what  sort  of  lass 

To  fancy  for  a  wife ; 
And  by  the  way,  no  other  kind 

Should  '  harness  me  for  life.' 

I'd  have  her  be  a  child,  I  mean 

In  childhood  so  at  least. 
Not  ^  partying'  when  she  should  be  at 

A  bread-and-butter  feast. 

Not  sporting  hoops  and  crinoline, 

Or  dress  of  silken  goods, 
When  she  might  look  so  sweeter  far 

In  calico  and  hoods. 


A   LITTLE    HIXT   TO    LITTLE    BEAUX.  233 

Not  gazing  absently  in  church, 

To  where  the  ^  buttons'  flash  ; 
Not  on  the  street,  or  anywhere, 

Seeking  to  'cut  a  dash.' 

Not  manifesting  at  her  home 

A  stubborn  will,  or  strife ; 
For  if  she's  not  obedient  there. 

She'll  not  be  so  'for  life.' 

I'd  choose  a  modest  little  girl, 

A  girl  with  girlish  ways  ; 
Retiring,  gentle, — one  whom  none 

Could  mention  but  to  praise. 

I'd  watch  her  conduct  everywhere ; 

From  church,  if  it  occurred, 
I'd  ask  her  what  the  text  was — just 

To  see  if  she  had  heard. 

And  on  the  street,  I'd  notice  if — 
With  silly,  smirking  air, 
20* 


2-34  A    LITTLE    HINT    TO    LITTLE    BEAUX. 

To  every  boy  she  chanced  to  meet, 
She  nodded-  here  and  there. 

And  at  her  home,  I'd  look  to  see 
Each  act  with  kindness  rife, 

A  kind,  good  daughter's  very  apt 
To  make  a  kind,  good  wife. 

I'd  mark  her  in  the  fireside  group. 

To  see  a  noble  heart 
Display  itself,  in  things  that  bear 

Upon  a  sister's  part. 

And  when  the  kitten  from  the  hearth 

Come  purring  to  her  lap, 
I'd  notice  if  her  welcome  were 

A  kind  stroke,  or — a  slap. 

And  when  I  found  one  good  and  true 

As  I  Avould  have  her  be. 
When  we  were  '  grown  folks'  I  would  ask 

Her  then  to  marry  me. 


A  LITTLE  HINT  TO  LITTLE  BEAUX.    235 

I  tell  you,  bojs,  such  is  the  girl 

To  fancy  for  a  mfe  ; 
And  were  I  you,  no  other  kind 

Should  *  harness  7Jie  for  life.' 


oo 


6 


TO  AN  ONLY  SISTER. 

'Tis  night,  sweet  sister,  and  the  stars 

Are  trembling  in  the  sky, — 
Brightly  as  when  we  watched  their  light 

In  other  years  gone  by. 
The  moon  hath  climbed  the  distant  hill 

And  decks  Heaven's  starry  dome. 
As  when  her  soft  rays  shone  around 

Our  own,  sweet  childhood-home. 

The  Whippoorwill  has  hushed  his  song, 

The  dew  is  on  the  ground, — 
The  flowers  have  closed  their  fragrant  cups, 

And  all  is  still  around. 
What  marvel  then  that  Memory's  flight 

Should  wing  its  way  to  thee ; 
And  to  the  only  parent  dear 

Now  left  to  you  and  me ! 


TO   AN   ONLY   SISTER.  237 

Our  Mother  lies  asleep,  tlic  grave 

Hath  hid  her  from  our  view, 
And  Father's  eye  is  growing  dim, 

And  we  are  now  but  two. 
The  youngest  of  our  parted  band 

Wanders,  an  angel  bright, 
Where  streams  of  '^living  waters"  glide 

Through  radiant  realms  of  light. 

Mother  and  child,  united,  dwell 

In  that  blest  home  on  high, 
AYhile  we  are  left,  that  path  to  seek 

Which  led  them  to  the  sky. 
By  all  the  love  we  lost  in  them. 

By  his,  whose  parent-care 
Still  follows  us,  where'er  we  go, 

With  blessings  and  with  prayer, 

Let's  be,  through  life,  devoted,  true. 

Sustaining  each  the  other, 
Remembering  always  the  wish 

Of  our  sweet  angel  Mother. 


238  TO   AN   ONLY   SISTER. 

In  childhood's  bright  and  sunny  hours, 

When  hushed  to  rosy  rest — 
Soothed  by  the  same  low  "lullaby," 

Clasped  to  the  same  fond  breast. 

How  oft,  ere  envied  slumber  chained 

Our  senses  with  its  spell, 
Did  these  sweet  words  fall  on  our  ear : 

"  Love  one  another  well.''' 
The  lips  that  breathed  them,  now  are  mute, 

Death's  seal  upon  them  laid; 
Yet  ne'er  may  their  soft  music-tones 

From  our  remembrance  fade. 

Eut  let  our  hearts  the  motto  heed 

Each  "loving  well"  the  other — 
Remembering  the  last,  fond  wish, 

Of  our  sweet,  angel  mother. 
Good  night,  beloved — the  moonbeams  fall 

Gently  o'er  hill  and  lea, 
The  while  I  breathe,  to  listening  Heaven, 

Love's  fervent  prayer  for  thee. 


239 


NEWSBOY'S  CHRISTMAS  ADDRESS. 

Since  our  last  year's  Christmas  ^reetincr 

Faithful  friends,  and  patrons  kind, 
We  have  followed  one,  whose  footprints 

Leave  a  mournful  shade  behind. 
We  have  seen  the  bright  Spring  blossoms 

Blooming  fair  on  hill  and  dell. 
And  we've  heard  the  gentle  Summer, 

Breathe  her  plaintive,  low  farewell. 

Then  we've  watched  the  mcek-ejed  Autumn 

With  her  mystic  face  serene ; 
Mantling  all  this  world  of  ours 

In  a  robe  of  rainbow  sheen. 
Next,  with  noiseless  step  advancing, 

Winter  comes  with  chilling  breath  ; 
Clothing  hill,  and  vale,  and  mountain. 

In  the  livery  of  Death. 


240  newsboy's    CHRISTMAS   ADDRESS. 

See  you  not,  a  Phantom  figure 

Drawing  near,  Avitli  features  pale, — 
Hear  you  not  a  requiem  swelling  ? 

'Tis  the  Old  Year's  dying  wail. 
Hark  !  the  Christmas  bells  are  chiming 

With  his  moan,  and  busy  feet, 
All  unmindful  of  the  spectre, 

Glide  along  the  crowded  street. 

Let  us  join  the  merry  circle. 

And  be  happy  while  we  may ; 
'Tis  the  idle  workman,  only. 

Who  deserves  no  holyday. 
Spare  us  then  the  Christmas  trifle. 

We  have  never  claimed  in  vain ; 
And  may  Heaven,  in  countless  blessings. 

Give  it  back  to  you  again. 


241 


ON  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY 
CHILDHOOD. 

My  heart  beats  with  a  quickened  pulse.     Behokl, 
The  tide  of  Time  rolls  back  ! — I  tread  once  more 
The  hallowed  footprints  of  mj  earlier  years ; 
This  is  the  threshold,  this  the  open  door, 
Through  which  my  eager  steps  have  entered  in, 
How  oft  before ! 

Here,  was  my  Mother's  room  ; 
Aye,  it  was  here  she  gave  me  birth,  and  here 
These  lips  received  her  dying,  farewell  kiss. 
A  baby-sister  lay,  that  dreary  morn, 
Upon  her  wasted  breast, — now,  both  are  gone. 

From  this  low  window,  I  have  often  watched 
The  thick,  fast  falling  of  the  summer  rain, — 

21 


242    ON  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 

Fears  for  the  birds,  whose  songs,  the  storm  had 

hushed, 
Haunting  my  childish  breast.     I  little  dreamed 
That  after  years  would  shed  upon  my  heart 
Cold,  pelting  showers ;  that  would  drive  Hope  and 

Joy. 

Like  frightened  birds,  to  fold  their  timid  wings 
'Neath  the  o'erdarkened  sky.     My  heart  looks  up 
And  thanks  thee,  Father,  that  thou  minglest  thus 
Thorns    with    the   flowers   about    Life's    pathway 

strewn. 
These  would  but  bind  us  here  ;  those  point  us  where 
No   clouds   shut  out   Heaven's  sunshine   from   the 

soul. 
Oh,  how  "old  times"  come  back! — This  mansion 

old, 
With  its  dim  halls,  and  silent  chambers  lone, 
Tells  a  sweet  tale  of  childhood  happiness. 
There  was  a  time,  when  nook  and  corner  rang 
With  the  glad  shout  of  merry  voices.     Aye, 
'Twas  here  I  passed  the  joyous,  fleeting  hours 
Of  life's  glad  Springtime, — now,  each  way  I  turn 


ON  REYISITIXG  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD.    243 

Some  old  familiar  haunt  calls  up  the  Past. 

My  Grandmother's  room !  I  well  remember 

How,  when  Mother  died,  w^e  shared  it  with  her, — 

Sisters  two,  I  and  our  little  cousins, 

A  heljilcss  band,  to  whom  she  did  become 

The  second  mother.     Ah,  long  years  have  passed 

Since  on  her  gentle  form  we  looked  our  last. 

Yon  crumbling  porch  led  to  the  parlor,  where. 

With  songs  and  music,  passed  the  evening  hours. 

Even  now  I  see  the  quaint  old  pictures 

Hanging  'gainst  the  walls, — my  father's  portrait. 

Picturing  him  in  all  the  pride  of  manhood. 

This  was  the  dining-room ;  just  on  that  spot 

Stood  the  old  sideboard  ;  there  the  little  stand 

On  which  the  Bible  rested ;  here  the  desk 

And  time-worn  bookcase, — relics  quaint  and  old. 

I  shut  mine  eyes,  and  see  the  table  spread, — 

I  almost  hear  the  laughing  jest  go  round. 

From  loving  lips,  now  voiceless.     Aye,  the  Dead, 

Come  back  to-day,  and  seem  to  fill  once  more. 

Their  old  accustomed  places.     Absent  ones 

Long  parted  meet — but  mournful  thoughts  shut  out 


244    ON  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 

The  cherished  vision,  and  I  look  to  see 

Only  the  dreary  change  which  time  hath  wrought. 

There  is  the  tree  beneath  whose  leafy  shade 

We  oft  '^hept  Jiouse'  in  Summer's  noontide  hours, 

Wooing  the' birds  and  butterflies  for  guests, 

And  chiding  them  that  they  did  seem  to  scorn 

Our  mimic  hospitality. 

That  path 
Led  to  the  schoolhouse,  where  we  first  did  learn 
To  ivelcome  "  rainy  days  f'  and  where,  full  oft, 
The  forfeit  of  a  playtime  had  to  pay 
For  playing  truant  at  the  grapevine  swing. 
Oh,  halcyon  days  of  sunshine  and  of  joy  ! — 
There  is  the  garden  with  its  rustic  gate 
Crowned  with  gay  trumpet  flow^ers  ;  how  oft  before 
I've  seen  it  thus,  in  other  years  gone  by, 
Only  more  beautiful  beneath  the  light 
AVhich  childhood's  gaze  is  wont  to  shed  on  all 
Around,  above,  about  us.     Shrub  and  vine, 
The  very  rose  I  planted  bloomed  more  fair, 
When  I,  a  glad  child,  watched  each  mystic  growth, 
And  proudly  hailed  each  new  development. 


ON  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD.    245 

That  beaten  road  led  to  Mount  Olivet, — 
The  country  Church  whose  Summer  Sabbath-school 
I  can  recall  as  'twere  but  yesterday. 
Yon  shady  grove,  parting  the  meadow  green. 
Circles  the  spring,  the  bright,  clear,  gushing  spring, 
Whose  crystal  depths  mirrored  each  waving  bough 
That  hung  above  it.     'Twas  a  favorite  spot 
Whereby  to  loiter  when  we  came  from  school, — 
Tired  out  with  rules,  "hard  lessons,"  and  dull  books. 
I  can  remember  how,  in  Summer  time. 
We  made  our  play-house  here,  on  holidays, — 
Launching  our  mimic  boats  made  up  of  leaves 
And  hickory-nut  shells,  on  the  eddying  stream, 
Whose  gurgling  fountain  was  that  woodland  spring. 
And  then  'twas  sweet  to  come  at  sultry  noon, 
And  sit  beneath  those  tall,  proud  forest  trees. 
Whose  tAvining  arms  stretched  out  protectingly 
Above  our  heads.     Ah,  we  were  careless  then. 
And  young,  and  free,  a  little  hand  of  mx^ — 
All  motherless.     Grief  could  not  long  have  sway 
O'er  hearts  so  blest  Avith  love's  kind  sympathies. 

We  did  not  know  that  Death  would  lay  his  hand 

21* 


246    ox  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 

On  others  of  our  household,  and  that  Tnne 
Would  rob  us  of  this  home  we  loved  so  well, — 
That   stransier   hands  would   tend  the  flowers  we 

reared, 
And  write  strange  records  on  familiar  things. 
Lo  !  where  yon  sunlight  falls  so  tenderly 
Upon  a  hillside  fair,  are  the  lone  graves 
Of  our  departed  ones.     There  rest  our  Dead ; 
There  sleeps  my  mother  close  beside  her  own. 
Who,  in  my  childhood,  held  her  place  to  me. 
Peace  to  their  ashes,  peace,  beloved  Dead ! 
To  you  may  come  no  more  sunshine  or  storm ; 
Yet  well  I  know,  that  He  whose  kind  eye  marks 
The  sparrow's  fall,  will  guard  your  sleeping  dust, 
Till  He  shall  bid  it  rise.     Oh,  may  He  then 
Unite  again,  each  precious,  parted  link 
Of  our  glad  household  chain,  and  may  we  dAvell 
Together  in  that  changeless  clime  above, 
Where  Death  comes  never  more,  and  where  no  tears 
Fall  from  fond  eyes  o'er  ruins  Time  hath  made. 
The  evening  shadows  fall,  how  soft  and  still. 
Upon  this  hallowed  scene, — the  air  is  hushed, 


ON  REVISITING  THE  HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD.    247 

The  mellow  rays  of  the  declining  sun 
Shed  a  mild  radiance  on  each  object  round, — 
Nature  breathes  in  concord  with  my  spirit,^- 
Wood,  rock,  and  hill,  echo  my  parting  words. 
Graves  of  my  Dead  !  Home  of  my  heart !  farewell. 


248 


TO  BLANCHE. 

Little  one,  with  pensive  eye, 
Soft  and  blue  as  yonder  sky ; 
Lip  as  pure  as  Summer  flower, 
Wet  with  dew  at  morning  hour ; 
Form  of  fair  and  fragile  mould. 
Heart  where  love  can  ne'er  grow  cold ; 
Voice  as  sweet  as  cooing  dove 
When  it  mourns  its  absent  love ; 
In  thy  mirth,  so  blithe  and  free. 
What  is  Life,  sweet  one,  to  thee  ? 

Such  the  language  of  thy  face. 
So  much  sadness,  so  much  grace ; 
Such  thy  noiseless  step,  as  light 
As  the  poet's  dreams  at  night; 


TO   BLANCHE.  249 

Such  the  soft,  appealing  tone, 

Of  thy  voice,  like  music's  own. 

That  I've  thouglit  there  ne'er  should  dwell 

In  thy  heart  one  shadowy  spell ; 

That  all  joy  and  peace  should  be 

Mingled  in  Life's  cup  for  thee. 

May  it  prove  that  years  will  shed 
Blessings  on  thy  gentle  head  ; 
Faith  a  sacred  halo  flino;, 
Radiant  as  the  dawn  of  Spring ; 
Hope,  forever  near  thy  side. 
Linger  still  an  Angel  guide; 
Love  lend  ever  her  soft  liixht 
To  direct  thy  steps  aright. 
And  to  thy  young  heart  be  given 
Peace  and  happiness  from  Heaven. 


250 


STEWART  HOLLAND, 

THE    HERO-VICTIM    OF    THE    LOST     "ARCTIC." 

"He  could  not  be  induced  to  leave  the  ship  ;  his  post  was  at  the 
gun,  firing  signals  ;  he  kept  firing  the  gun  till  the  vessel  sunk  ;  we 
saw  him  in  the  very  act  of  firing  as  the  vessel  disappeared  below 
the  waters." 

A  REQUIEM  for  thee,  oh,  true  and  brave ! 
Whose  winding-sheet  is  the  Atlantic  wave ; 
No  braver  heart  e'er  sunk  'neath  Ocean's  surge, — 
Ill-fated  Holland !  billows  moan  thy  dirge. 

And  ah  I  how  many  fond  eyes  vainly  Aveep, 
As,  gazing  o'er  the  trackless,  foaming  deep, 
A  voice  comes  to  them  with  the  Sea's  sad  moan. 
That  tells  of  thee,  their  loved,  brave,  perished  one ! 

True  to  thy  trust,  and  to  thine  honor  true, — 
Alone  in  all  that  panic-stricken  crew ; 


STEWART  HOLLAND.  251 

No  fears  disarmed,  nor  did  thy  bosom  quail, 
Though  stout  hearts  faltered,  and  stern  lips  grew 
pale. 

Rough,  hardy  seamen  rushed  by  thee  on  deck. 
Each  struggling  to  escape  the  fearful  wreck ; 
Men,  women,  children,  frantic  with  despair. 
Pierced  with  their  shrieking  tones  the  misty  air. 

And  high  above,  the  startled  sea-bird  soared, 
"While  close  beneath  thee,  angry  billows  roared ; 
Yet,  at  thy  post,  unflinching  to  the  last, 
Thou  heed'st  not  then  the  danger  threatening  fast. 

But  all  undaunted,  self-forgetting,  brave. 
Thou  stood'st  unmoved, — thy  life  to  duty  gave ; 
Nor  ceased  to  fire  thy  mournful  signal-gun, 
'Till  Death  pronounced  thy  martyr-duty  done. 

Down  went  the  noble  ship,  till  Ocean's  roar 
Mingled  with  cries  of  human  woe  no  more ; 
Manhood  and  Beauty,  Love  and  Hope  and  Pride, 
All  sunk  beneath  the  foaming,  billowy  tide. 


252  STEWART  HOLLAND. 

Firm  on  the  deck,  deserted,  thou  didst  stand, 
The  last  of  that  ill-fated,  hapless  band ; 
One  signal  more, — then  down  to  Ocean's  caves. 
As  that  last  sound  dies  o'er  the  engulfing  waves. 

What  yearning  thoughts  were  thine,  in  that  dark 

hour, 
No  tongue  may  tell, — yet  trusting  to  that  Power, 
Whose  voice  the  winds  and  restless  waves  obeyed, 
We  know  His  arm  thy  dauntless  spirit  stayed. 

And  if,  in  Memory's  vista,  then  arose 
Faces  and  forms  beloved,  whose  life's  repose 
Linked  with  thy  love,  henceforth  must  broken  be. 
He  whispered  softly,  "Leave  them  all  to  me." 

Ah  !  nobly  hast  thou  yielded  thy  young  life, 
With  all  high  purposes  and  proud  aims  rife ; 
Martyr  to  Duty ! — thou  hast  given  to  Fame 
The  long,  sweet  echo  of  a  hero's  name. 


253 


A  LITTLE  HINT  TO  LITTLE  BELLES. 

And  now  I'll  tell  you,  little  girls, 
What  sort  of  boj  to  choose, — 

For  husbands  are  like  lotteries. 
You  win  a  prize  or  lose. 

I'd  have  him  he  a  boy — at  least 

Till  far  down  in  his  "teens ;" 
Not  squandering  in  idle  trash. 

His  little  surplus  means. 

Not  boasting  of  his  "fast"  exploits, 

To  prove  himself  a  man ; 
Not  turning  out  a  scant  mustache. 

To  show  you  that  he  can. 


254  A    LITTLE    HINT   TO    LITTLE    BELLES. 

Not  bragging  that  he  goes  to  church, 

Only  to  see  "who's  there, 
And  that  in  sermons  he  couhl  have 

No  interest  or  share. 

Not  jeering  what  the  preacher  says. 

As  foolish  "stuff"  and  vain, 
Avowing  that  he'd  never  let 

Such  '^taW  disturb  his  brain. 

Not  sauntering  along  the  street. 
With  stately  step  and  air. 

As    though    for    ^^  small   tilings'' — Books    or 
Work- 
He  had  no  taste  to  spare. 

Not  every  lassie's  lad  he  meets — 

No  service  be  refused. 
Except  when  '^  Sister  '  asks  his  aid. 

And  then  he'd  "  5e  excused.'' 

Not  twirling  a  shillaly  "nice," 
Within  a  nicer  hand. 


A    LITTLE    HINT    TO    LITTLE    BELLES.         255 

While  talking  of  his  parents,  as 
"  Old  woman"  and  "  old  man." 

Not  ''dropping  in"  at  bar-room  haunts, 

To  get — a  good  cigar  (!) 
When  well  he  knows  a  Father's  eje 

Would  frown  to  see  him  there. 

Not  interspersing  idle  talk 

With  ''small  oaths''  here  and  there, 
Regardless  that  a  Mother's  heart 

Would  ache  to  hear  him  swear. 

Not  fearing  lest  he  should  be  thought 

Unmanly,  foolish,  weak, 
If  from  temptation's  snare  he'd  turn 

Some  loftier  aim  to  seek. 

I'd  choose  a  boy  that's  bold  and  brave — 

Not  impudent  or  fast. 
But  one  who'd  dare  to  do  the  right, 

Undaunted  to  the  last. 


256  A   LITTLE    HINT   TO    LITTLE    BELLES. 

I'd  have  him  be  industrious, 

And  persevering,  too — 
Doing  with  willing  hand  and  heart, 

Whate'er  he  had  to  do. 

I'd  watch  him  closely  on  the  street. 
To  see  him  shun  the  place. 

Where,  'neath  a  Father's  frowning  eye, 
He'd  blush  to  show  his  face. 

I'd  note  him  in  the  house  of  God, 
And  at  the  hour  of  prayer. 

To  see  a  close,  attentive  ear. 
And  reverential  air. 

I'd  mark  his  conduct  well  abroad. 

And  at  his  fireside,  too, —  «- 

A  "  motlicrs  soil"  is  apt  to  make 
A  husband  kind  and  true. 

I'd  notice  when  his  humble  dog 
Ventured  his  hand  to  lick, 


A    LITTLE   HINT    TO    LITTLE    BELLES.         2o7 

Whether  his  welcome  hnpulse  "were 
A  ^'  soft  pat"  or  a  kick. 

Or  when  I'd  satisfy  myself, 

If  he  were  kind  or  cross, 
I'd  only  wait  some  careless  time, 

To  watch  him  with  his  horse. 

If  he  were  gentle,  brave,  and  good, 

As  noble  boys  should  be, 
Td  wait  till  tve  ivere  groini, — then  let 

Ilim  whisper  love  to  me. 

For  I  should  feel  that  I  had  found 

A  heart  both  true  and  warm, 
On  wliich  my  own  might  safely  lean. 

Through  sunshine  and  through  storm. 

So,  if  my  parents  both  agreed 

To  let  me  be  his  wife, 

IM  tell  him  so,  and  joining  hands, 

We'd  settle  down  ''for  life." 
22* 


258  A   LITTLE    HINT    TO    LITTLE   BELLES. 

I  tell  you,  girls,  all  jest  aside, 
Such  is  the  boy  to  choose ; 

For  husbands  are  like  lotteries, — 
You  win  a  prize,  or  lose. 


259 


A  SISTER'S  FAREWELL. 

How  shall  we  give  thee  up, 

Brother,  so  dear? 
Glad  is  the  household  band 

While  thou  art  here. 
Changed,  changed  will  be  the  hearth, 

Dreary  and  lone. 
Vanished  our  life's  delight. 

When  thou  art  gone. 
How  shall  we  give  thee  up. 

Noblest  and  best  ? 
Happy  have  been  the  hearts 

Thy  smile  hath  blest. 
Brightly  our  childhood  passed, 

Thy  love  its  star  ; 
Memory  now  sees  its  light 

Shining  afar. 


260  A  sister's  farewell. 

Gladly  tlie  days  flew  by, 

Thou  at  my  side, 
Pleasure  and  mirthfulness 

On  thee  relied. 
Oft  by  the  river's  brink 

Culled  we  the  flowers, 
Wreathed  them  in  garlands  gay 

For  Summer  hours. 
Then  tired  of  passive  sports, 

Chased  we  the  bee, 
I,  full  of  childish  trust. 

Following  thee. 
Ah  !  those  Avere  joyous  times; 

Would,  but  how  vain, 
Childhood's  unclouded  days 

Might  come  again. 
Would  that  its  faith  and  hope 

Time  might  restore ; 
But  vainly  said,  those  joys 

Come  back  no  more. 
Gone  is  life's  sweet  spring-time, 

Faded  its  bloom, 


A  sister's  farewell.  261 

O'er  the  heart's  cherished  hopes 

Rests  autumn's  gloom. 
Now  the  dark  hour  has  come 

When  thou  must  roam — 
Life's  slippery  path  untried, 

Far  from  thy  home. 
All  the  deep  yearning  love, 

Trusting  and  tried, 
Which  in  our  childhood  years. 

Clung  to  thy  side. 
Follow  thee,  brother  dear, 

^From  our  lone  hearth. 
Where'er  thy  steps  may  stray 

O'er  the  broad  earth. 
Oh,  may  Heaven's  blessing  rest 

On  thee  through  life — 
Shield  thee  in  time  of  need, 

Danger  and  strife. 
May  God  his  grace  bestow. 

Make  thee  his  care ; 
This  be  my  last  farewell. 

This  my  last  prayer. 


262 


FLOWERS 


FROM  THE  CONVENT  OF  MT.  DE  SALES,  NEAR 
BALTIMORE. 


PRESENTED  BY  "SISTER  CECILIA.' 

Ye  wert  born  afjir  from  the  haunts  of  men, 

In  the  shades  of  tlie  perfumed  bowers ; 
Ye  Avert  given  to  me  by  a  gentle  hand, 

With  a  kindliest  smile,  fair  flowers. 
And  though  passed  long   since  is  your  fragrant 
breath. 

And  the  light  of  your  blooming  hours. 
Yet  I  love,  ah !  well,  the  sweet  memories  linked 

With  your  brief,  fleeting  lives,  pale  flowers. 
Ye  wert  watched,  aye  long,  by  an  eye  as  bright 

As  the  stars  that  look  down  at  even  ; 
And  your  smiles  did  gladden  a  heart  as  pure 

As  the  Seraphs  who  smile  in  Heaven. 


FLOWERS.  263 

How  well  I  remember  that  sweet  retreat, 

Her  home — in  its  calm  seclusion, 
Like  an  isle  of  beauty,  where  fairies  dwell, 

Shut  out  from  mortal  obtrusion. 
'Tis  a  woodland  wild,  where  the  squirrel's  chirp. 

And  the  hum  of  the  mountain  bee, 
Blend  in  chorus  glad  with  the  red  bird's  note, 

And  the  oriole's,  so  blithe  and  free. 
'Tis  a  hillside  fair,  from  whose  verdant  crest 

Rose  the  Convent  spire, — ah,  well 
I  recall,  e'en  now,  how  it  pointed  then 

To  that  home,  where  the  sinless  dwell. 
And  I  thought  of  one,  in  her  girlhood's  bloom, 

More  fair  than  these  flowers  so  cherished. 
Whose  bright  cheek  grew  pale  'ncath  my  anxious 
gaze. 

Whose  form  from  my  side  had  perished. 
I  murmured  her  name — the  echo  which  came 

Was  soft  as  the  whispers  of  even. 
And  when  it  was  lost  to  my  ear,  I  gazed — 

The  spire — still — still  pointed  to  Heaven  ! 


264  FLOWERS. 

How  sadly  I  mused,  as  I  clasped  lier  hand, 

Who  had  guided  us  both  in  youth — 
A  "  Sister"  in  name  to  me  and  to  mine. 

She  was  ^'Mother"  indeed  and  in  truth. 
Around  me  were  faces  and  forms  beloved. 

In  the  bright  days  of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne," 
When  my  life  was  new  and  my  heart  was  young. 

And  the  day-dreams  of  youth  were  mine, 
And  near  me  were  voices  whose  sweet,  low  tones. 

Led  my  spirit  rejoicing  back. 
With  its  burden  of  years,  to  roam  again 

O'er  my  lost  childhood's  shining  track. 
I  lingered  long,  and  on  Memory's  wall 

Hangs  the  picture  I  saw  that  day. 
Of  the  woodland  wild,  with  its  Convent  spire. 

And,  distant,  the  beautiful  Bay. 
Can  I  ever  forget  it  ? — pure  and  sweet 

As  the  odor  of  Southern  gales. 
Is  the  dream  I  hold  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 

Of  that  visit  to  Mt.  de  Sales. 
In  those  cloistered  halls  there  are  forms  as  bright 

As  a  painter  might  love  to  trace — 


FLOWERS.  265 

Of  innocent  Childhood  with  laughino;  broAV, 

And  of  Beauty,  with  half-veiled  face. 
As  I  stood  mid  that  black-veiled  group,  each  smile 

AVoke  the  past,  Avith  its  mystical  train 
Of  my  school-day  joys,  with  their  roseate  hues — 

Lost  blessings,  which  come  not  again. 
While  we  strolled  through  those  stately  halls,  they 
rang 

With  the  echoes  of  voices  clear. 
And  the  merry  sound  waked  a  slumbering  chord, 

As  I,  musingly,  paused  to  hear. 
'Twas  the  laughing  shout  of  a  happy  band, 

At  their  play  on  the  green  below — 
Meek  innocence  smiled  in  each  fair  young  face, 

Joy  beamed  from  each  beautiful  brow ; 
Then  my  OAvn  glad  school-days  came  back  to  me. 

And  I  thought  of  my  playmates  fair, — 
Some  had  passed,  long  since,  to  the  Silent  Land, 

Some  were  living, — I  knew  not  where. 
And  a  murmured  prayer  went  up  from  my  heart 

To  Our  Father  who  reigneth  above, 

23 


266  FLOWERS. 

That  when  Death  shall  have  gathered  every  one, 

We  may  meet  in  His  Home  of  Love ! 
On  we  passed,  through  corridors,  rich  and  grand. 

With  their  frescoes  and  pictured  walls, — 
Art,  Industry,  Learning,  and  Genius  too, 

Find  a  home  in  these  cloistered  halls. 
The  clock  told  the  fast-fleeting  hours, — too  soon 

Came  the  moment  to  say  farewell, — 
Still  I  paused, — my  heart  heat  faster  the  while, 

As  we  entered  our  loved  one's  cell. 
'Twas  a  neat,  small  room,  where  we  paused  before 

A  shrine  of  the  Virgin  and  Child, — 
The  Babe  looking  up  in  the  meek,  bowed  face 

Of  the  Mother,  so  pure  and  mild. 
At  the  feet  of  the  Virgin  stood  a  vase. 

Newly  filled  from  the  garden  bowers, 
And  from  out  that  vase,  the  dear  hand  I  held. 

Culled,  and  gave  me  these  pale  sweet  flowers. 
With  a  smile  she  added,  "  They  II  tell  of  us^'' 

And  my  heart  gave  its  answer  true. 
As  in  silence  I  clasped  each  friendly  hand. 

And  in  silence,  wept  an  adieu ! 


FLOWERS.  267 

Ob  !  voiceless  flowers,  ye  are  faded  now  ! 

Yet  sweet  as  the  echoes  of  even 
Is  the  tale  ye  tell  of  that  Avoodland  wild, 

With  its  spire  that  pointed  to  Heaven. 
And  though  distant  far  is  that  sunny  spot, 

More  pure  than  the  soft  Southern  gales, 
Is  the  dream  I  hold  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 

Of  that  visit  to  Mt.  De  Sales. 
Long,  long  may  the  picture  my  spirit  cheer. 

With  its  rainbow  tints,  lovely  and  bright. 
Till  Death  to  my  soul  fairer  visions  unfold 

In  the  radiant  regions  of  Light. 


268 


MY  LITTLE  STAR. 

I've  watched  a  Star,  dear  one,  since  last  we  parted, 

A  solitary  star  which  shines  above, 
As  though  'twould  lure  me,  by  its   strange  pure 
brightness, 

To  dream,  once  more,  of  happiness  and  love. 

A  little  trembling  star,  it  shines  at  even, 
So  pure,  so  holy,  too,  its  soft  rays  are, — 

I  almost  question  if  some  Angel  spirit 

Does  not  bend  o'er  me  from  that  little  star. 

At  twilight,  when  my  saddened  heart  is  lonely, 
That  star  looks  calmly  down  as  though  to  cheer 

My  weary  bosom,  when  dim  spectres  only 
And  shadows  of  the  Past  are  gliding  near. 


MY   LITTLE    STAR.  269 

Each  dewy  evening  as  I  gaze  upon  it,  / 

So  mild,  so  heavenly,  as  it  shines  afar, 
I,  musing,  wonder  if  its  soft  light  reacheth 
■  Beyond  those  mountain  summits  where  you  are. 

I  wonder,  too,  whether  your  eyes  behold  it. 
The  while  I  gaze  upon  its  mystic  light, — 

If  so,  then  tell  me,  does  it  charm  your  spirit 
By  its  soft  rays,  so  beautiful  and  bright  ? 

A  cloud  passed  o'er  my  little  star  this  evening, 
A  cold,  dark  cloud,  so  cold,  it  made  me  weep; 

Yet  still  I  mused,  mine  eyes  still  upward  gazing 
Through  blinding  tears,  their    silent  watch  to 
keep. 

And  when  I  bowed  me  down  in  prayerful  sorrow, 
A  sudden  calmness  swept  my  spirit  o'er, — 

I  gazed  again,  and  lo  !  the  cloud  had  vanished, — 
My  little  star  shone  brighter  than  before. 

Didst  view  it  thus,  beloved,  and  didst  thou  question 

The  direful  omen  when  the  cloud  appeared  ? 

23^- 


270  MY    LITTLE    STAR. 

And  did  thj  soul,  like  mine,  bow  down  in  sorrow  ? 
And  was   thj  heart's  deep  fountain   strangely 
stirred? 

And  didst  thou  welcome,  too,  the  star's  returning. 
When  pure,  and  beautiful,  and  calm,  and  bright, 

It  shone  again,  more  radiant  still,  still  soothing 
Our  fevered  senses  by  its  mystic  light  ? 

Thus  may  Life's  path  for  thee,  dear  one,  be  lighted 
By  Hope's  glad  ray  which  dawneth  from  above, 

And  may  each  transient  cloud  which  passes  o'er  it 
But  add  new  radiance  to  thy  Star  of  Love. 

This  silent  prayer  my  fond  lips  utter  nightly. 
As  through  the  shadows  dim  and  mists  of  even, 

My  little  Star  looks  down  and  seems  to  whisper 
Of  Peace,  and  Happiness,  and  Love,  in  Heaven. 


271 


LIGHT  IN  DARKNESS. 


A     FRAGMENT. 


Tins  world  is  not  all  darkness, — forms  of  light 
Float  ever  round  us  in  the  thickest  night ; 
Kind,  minst'ring  spirits  pass  us  to  and  fro 
AYith  ready  greeting  in  this  vale  of  Avoe. 
And  on  us  from  their  radiant  home,  the  skies, 
Bright,  guardian  angels  look  with  tender  eyes, — 
Or,  sent  to  earth  upon  some  high  behests. 
They  leave  their  starry  sphere  to  be  our  guests. 
And  hov'ring  'round  us  on  their  viewless  wings, 
They  cheer  the  heart  with  silent  whisperings 
Of  endless  joy  and  peaceful  rest  above. 
Where  in  God's  presence  all  is  light  and  love ; 
Where  life's  dull  cares  and  mocking  fears  all  o'er. 
Sorrow  shall  pain  the  timid  heart  no  more. 


272  LIGHT   IN    DARKNESS. 

Where  clouds  no  longer  o'er  our  footsteps  rise 
To  hide  the  light  that  on  our  pathway  lies. 
Where  Hope's  glad  song  may  greet  th'  Eternal  ear, 
And  Faith  is  lost  in  vision  bright  and  clear. 
Where  from  the  heart   there   comes   no  grieving 

moan 
For  friendship  lost,  no  quenchless  murmuring  tone 
Of  silent  suffering  it  is  pressed  to  bear. 
With  no  kind  bosom  in  its  grief  to  share. 
Look  up,  sad  spirit,  o'er  yon  azure  dome 
Is  thy  inheritance,  that  blessed  home 
Whose  portals  open  for  the  faithful  heart. 
Subdued  and  chastened  by  affliction's  smart. 
Our  Father  offers  it ;  can  He  deceive  ? 
The  sole  condition  is  '''repent,  believe.'" 
Oh,  rouse  thee,  heart !  rush  to  thy  Master's  fight ; 
His  yoke  is  easy  and  his  burden  light ; 
Shake  off  Sin's  rankling  fetter — strength  is  His 
Whose  faithful  service  perfect  freedom  is. 
His  eye  will  watch.  His  arm  protect  thee  here 
From  lurking  foes  and  dangers  threat'ning  near. 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS.  273 

His  love  will  guide  thee  through  that  vale  of  gloom 
Which  leads  to  fields  of  fresh,  immortal  bloom ; 
Where  thou  mayst  wander  by  those  crystal  streams, 
On  whose  clear  depths  the  Sun  of  Glory  beams. 
In  that  bright  land  no  cherished  flow'rets  lie 
Fresh  in  our  pathway,  then  bow  down  and  die. 
No  gentle  spirits, — formed  to  bless  and  cheer 
Our  yearning  bosoms  while  we  linger  here, — - 
Stay  with  us  only  till  their  love  hath  made 
The  light  that  round  our  weary  footsteps  played ; 
Then  leaving  us,  of  banished  joy  no  trace, 
Say,  ^'  Fare-thee  well,''  and  quit  our  fond  embrace. 
In  that  sweet,  heavenly  clime,  no  tears  are  shed 
In  helpless  anguish  o'er  the  loved  and  dead ; 
No  mem'ries  haunt  us  of  fond  eyes  that  shone 
On  us  in  love,  their  light  now  quenched  and  gone, — 
Eyes  that  looked  on  us  with  sad  lustre  bright, 
Then  meekly  closed  in  Death's  dim,  starless  night. 
No  lips  delight  us  with  fond  tones  aAvhile, 
Then  on  our  darken'd  pathway  cease  to  smile. 
No  voice  comes  to  us  in  low  tones  and  clear, 
Mocking  with  its  sweet  melody,  the  ear— 


274  LIGHT   IN   DARKNESS. 

Telling  of  lips  whose  whispers  hushed  and  gone 
Once  gladdened  us  like  music's  softest  tone. 
No  silent,  secret  woe  is  ours  to  bear ; 
No  tearful  eyes,  no  broken  hearts  are  there. 
But  lost  in  rapture,  fill'd  with  boundless  love, 
The  freed  soul  wanders  in  those  realms  above ; 
The  praise  of  God,  its  endless  theme  and  song, 
While  Seraphs  the  ecstatic  notes  prolong. 
Heart,  bear  on  bravely,  to  thyself  be  true ; 
Whate'er  betide  thee,  keep  thy  goal  in  view ; 
Assured  that  for  the  chastened  spirit  given. 
There  yet  remaineth  a  sweet  rest  in  Heaven, 
Where  the  swift,  fleeting  hours  of  Time  shall  be 
Lost  in  the  reck'ning  of  Eternity. 


275 


TO  ISABEL. 

WITH    THE    BRIDAL-GIFT    OF     A    BIBLE, 

Let  others  bring  their  gifts  to  thee, 

Of  silver  and  of  gold, — 
Rare  pearls  from  Lidia's  coral  seas, 

Rich  gems  from  Oceans  old  : 
Mine  be  this  Bible, — blessed  book, 

A  friend,  sincere  and  true, — 
A  beacon  star,  to  light  the  way 

Thy  footsteps  should  pursue. 

Clasp  it  with  fervor  to  thy  heart 

Now,  in  thy  bridal  hours, 
'Twill  w^ake  new^  joys  Avithin  thy  soul. 

And  strcAV  thy  path  with  flowers. 


276  TO    ISABEL.  * 

Study  its  precepts — it  will  prove 

A  guide,  both  safe  and  sure, 
When  earthly  dangers  threaten  near, 

And  earthly  snares  allure. 

Hold  it  while  living — search  its  truths, — 

Make  sure  its  promise  sweet. 
"A  light  'twill  be  unto  thy  path, 

A  lamp  unto  thy  feet ;" 
Clasp  it  when  dying,  it  will  prove 

A  talisman,  pure  and  bright, — 
To  guide  thee  through  Death's  shadowy  vale. 

Up — to  the  Land  of  Light. 


277 


MY  MARY. 

(A  husband's  lament.) 

I  KNEW  that  Tve  must  part — 

She  often  told  me  so, 
But  I  did  not  know  how  hard 

'T would  he  to  let  her  go ; 
I  knew  not  till  it  came 

How  hard  the  stroke  must  be 
Which  made  my  joj,  a  dream — 

My  hope,  a  memory. 

I  watched  her  fading  cheek. 
Slow  step,  and  languid  eye ; 

I  prayed  that  she  might  live, 
I  felt  that  she  must  die. 
24 


278  MY   MARY. 

And  when  the  moment  ciime 


An  angel  Imshed  her  breath ; 
I  said  it  must  be  sleep, 

They  told  me  it  was  Death. 

My  eyes  were  blinded  now, 

I  nothing  saw  that  day, 
Till  in  a  coffin  dim 

Her  slumbering  face  of  clay. 
Mute  lips  that  w^ould  not  speak, 

A  placid  forehead  fair  ; 
Closed  eyes,  a  marble  cheek, 

And  stirless  folds  of  hair. 

Oh  !   God,  if  word  of  mine 

E'er  pained  that  pulseless  heart, 
If  e'er  I  caused  a  tear 

In  that  closed  eye  to  start : 
Let  her  pure  spirit  speak. 

And  say  I  am  forgiven. 
Ere  yet  the  "pearly  gates" 

Have  shut  her  in  Thy  Heaven. 


MY    MARY.  279 

No  answering  look  or  smile, 

Only  a  dreadful  sound, 
Which  struck  against  my  heart. 

When  they  screwed  the  black  lid  down. 
I  turned  to  go — but  where  ? 

The  waiting  hearse  is  near, — 
They've  borne  my  Mary  out, 

And  I  must  follow  her. 

Beside  an  open  grave 

They  paused,  and  prayers  were  read ; 
Then  busy  hands  threw  in 

Dull  clods  upon  the  dead. 
They  piled  the  fresh,  cold  earth 

Above  her  silent  breast ; 
Two  lieavy  stones  w^ere  laid. 

To  mark  her  place  of  rest. 

Their  part  was  over  now ; 

They  left  me,  one  by  one ; 
The  sexton,  with  his  spade, 

Ilis  weary  task  was  done. 


280  MY    MAKY. 

But  I — where  could  I  go  ? 

How  turn  me  from  that  mound, 
Where  slept  my  gentle  wife, 

My  Mary,  in  the  ground  ? 

Oh  I  this  is  worse  than  death, 

To  breathe,  yet  not  to  live  ; 
To  know  that  all  the  world 

Hath  no  more  joy  to  give. 
I'll  go  from  place  to  place. 

Do  aught  the  hours  to  vary ; 
But  not  on  earth  again 

Shall  I  behold  my  Mary. 


281 


A  PLACE  AT  THY  FEET,  Oil !    MY 
SAVIOUR. 

Aiu — "  A  jjlace  171  thy  memory,  dearest.'''' 

A  PLACE  at  Thy  feet,  oh  !  my  Saviour, 

Is  all  that  I  claim, — 
That  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of  remembrance 

Thou  Avilt  write  my  name. 
Let  others  seek  fortune  and  pleasure, 

The  world  and  its  phantoms  pursue, — 
Thou  only  canst  give  lasting  treasure, 

Immortal  and  true. 

Remember  me.  Lord,  as  a  sinner. 

Weak,  erring,  and  blind; 
No  merit  I  bring  as  a  passport 

Thy  favor  to  find. 

24* 


282   A  PLACE  AT  THY  FEET,  OH  !  MY  SAVIOUR. 

No  price  can  I  offer  for  pardon, 

Thy  grace  must  be  freely  supplied ; 

A  worm  in  Thy  sight,  poor  and  helpless, 
For  such  Thou  hast  died. 

Kemember  Gethsemane's  garden, 

Thine  anguish  and  prayer ; 
The  sadness  which  bowled  down  Thy  spirit 

In  agony  there. 
Remember  thy  soul's  desolation, 

Thy  death  upon  Calvary ; 
And,  oh !   from  that  cross,  bleeding  Jesus, 

Turn  thy  dying  eyes  on  me. 

When  shineth  Hope's  rainbow  above  me, 

And  earth  seems  most  fair ; 
Dear  Lord,  in  thy  wisdom  unerring. 

Still  make  me  Thy  care. 
When  the  sunlight  of  Fortune  is  beaming 

In  days  of  prosperity, 
And  the  cup  of  my  joy  runneth  over. 

Dear  Jesus,  remember  me. 


A  PLACE  AT  THY  FEET,  OH  !  MY  SAVIOUR.   283 

When  the  light  o'er  life's  pathway  is  darkened 

By  sorrow  and  gloom, 
And  the  flowers  of  Hope  I  have  cherished 

Lie  stripped  of  their  bloom  ; — 
When  sickness  and  Death  overtake  me. 

And  Earth's  mocking  phantoms  shall  flee ; 
As  I  walk  through  the  Valley  of  Shadows, 

Dear  Saviour,  remember  me. 


284 


OLD  WINTER  HAS  COME. 

Old  Winter  has  come  ao-ain :  harsh  through  the  door 

The  cokl,  chilling  blasts  creep  in  ; 
The  fast-falling  snow-flakes  are  gathering  without, 

The  hickory  blazing  within. 

Old  Winter  has  come,  aye,  and  we  are  all  blest 
With  plenty  of  warmth  and  of  bread ; 

While  many  a  creature  is  braving  the  storm 
With  no  shelter  to  cover  his  head. 

Old  Winter  has  come,  and  the  trees  are  all  clad 

In  their  beautiful  vestures  of  snow. 
The  dark,  threatening  storm-clonds  are  lowering 
above. 

The  rivulets  freezing  below. 


OLD    WINTER    HAS    COME.  285 

Old  Winter  has  come,  see,  the  snow-bird  hops  round 
And  chirps  for  a  spare  little  crumb, 

While  on,  Master  Harry  still  heedlessly  sings 
The  song  of  Bopeep  and  Tom  Thumb. 

Old  Winter  has  come  ;  the  bold  schoolboy  cries  out, 

^'  Old  Winter's  the  season  for  me ;" 
And  hio"h  in   the   air    the  bridit    snow-balls   are 
hurled. 

With  a  halloo  of  innocent  glee. 

Old  Winter  has  come ;  yes,  but  ah  !  not  to  all 
Does  he  bring  with  him  laughter  and  mirth, — 

E'en  to-day  there  are  little  ones  shivering  around 
Full  many  a  comfortless  hearth. 

Old  AVinter  has  come  ;  then  remember  the  poor, 
llelieve  their  sad  wants  whilst  ye  may, — 

What  ye  have,  what  ye  are,  ye  owe  all  to  His  love 
Who  hath  given  and  can  take  away. 


286 


OVER ! 

The  struggle  is  over — tlie  agony  past, 
And  the  dear  little  sufferer  is  quiet  at  last ; 
Press  down  the  fringed  lids  o'er  those  shadowless 

eyes 
Where  the  spirit  of  beauty  and  holiness  lies ; 

Then  fold  the  soft  hands  on  his  innocent  breast, 
Nou2;ht  now  can  disturb  the  sweet  calm  of  his  rest ; 
He  has  felt   the  last   pang,  he   has    yielded   his 

breath, 
And  his  sleep  is  the  still,   dreamless  slumber  of 

death. 

Thank  God,  he  is  done  now  with  sickness  and  pain. 
Would  I  call  his  freed  soul  to  its  prison  again — 


OYER !  287 

Would  I  bar  tlie  glad  things,  the  bright  joys  of 

Heaven, 
From  his  spirit,  whom  Death  to  the  angels  hath 

given  ? 

Ah  no,  yet  I  bury  in  Earth's  frozen  breast 
The  hopes  I  have  cherished  as  dearest  and  best; 
To  thy  voiceless  keeping,  oh  !  Grave,  I  impart 
The  joy  of  my  being — the  pearl  of  my  heart. 

One  kiss  on  the  marble  cheek — baby,  farewell ! 
Thy  home  now  is  where  only  blest  ones  may  dwell. 
Too  bleak  was  our  pathAvay,  oh,  sinless,  for  thee ; 
Thy  fetters  are  broken — bright  seraph,  thou'rt  free. 

We  lay  thy  dear  form  in  the  grave,  yet  no  gloom 
Can  reach    thee,    pale   flower,   cut    down    in    thy 

bloom ; 
In  Heaven,  where  thou  art  now,  bliss  is  thy  part ; 
No  blight  shall  fall  on  thee  there.  Bud  of  my  heart. 


288 


A  LITTLE  BOY'S  WISH  AND  RESO- 
LUTION. 

^^  I  WANT  my  mamma  !"   said  a  beautiful  boy, 
As  tbe  brigbt,  early  morn  was  breaking, — 

He  bad  opened  his  eyes,  and  no  fresh,  Avarm  kiss 
Fell  soft  on  his  lips,  at  his  waking. 

"  I  want  my  mamma  !"  and  his  bright  azure  eyes, 
With  fast-gathering  tears  were  filling. 

While  his  piteous  tones  swelled  a  father's  heart 
With  an  anguish  deep  and  thrilling. 

And,  lifting  his  little  one  on  his  knee, 
He  smoothed  back  the  golden  tresses. 

While  only  a  sob  from  the  motherless  child. 
Could  answer  his  fond  caresses. 


A   LITTLE   boy's   WISH   AXD   RESOLUTION.      289 

Then  lie  told  of  a  radiant  clime  above, 
Where  tempest  and  storms  come  never, 

To  blight  the  immortal  flowers  that  bloom 
On  the  banks  of  the  crystal  river. 

And  he  said,  "  In  that  region  of  fadeless  bloom. 
Is  the  friend  to  your  infancy  given ; 

Last  night,  while  you  slept,  lo  !  an  angel  came. 
And  carried  your  mother  to  Heaven. 

"  Oft,  oft  in  that  beautiful  land,  my  child. 
Where  sorrow  and  death  come  never. 

Young  children  and  mothers,  long  parted,  meet, 
With  no  more  partings  forever." 

The  boy,  looking  up  with  a  wondering  gaze. 
His  eye  kindling  bright  at  the  story, 

Said,  "I  wish  the  good  Angel  w^ho  took  my  mamma, 
Would  come  back  and  take  me  to  glory." 

"  Then  be  a  good  boy,"  the  sad  father  replied, 
"  Let  nought  her  pure  influence  smother  ; 

25 


290      A   LITTLE   boy's   WISH    AND    RESOLUTION. 

And  in  God's  own  time  the  good  Angel  will  come, 
And  carry  you  home  to  your  mother." 

Bounding  off  with  a  heart  full  of  childish  delight, 
His  bosom  relieved  of  its  sorrow, — 

'•'Til  make  haste  to  he  good,  Pa,''  the  innocent  said, 
'''And  then  maybe  hell  take  me  to-morrow.'' 


291 


AN  EVENING  AT  CLIFF  COTTAGE. 

'Tis  moonlight  on  the  mountains;  and  around 

A  brooding  stillness,  save  the  night-wind's  tone, 

AYooing  sweet  rest  amid  the  folded  flowers, 

Or  mingling  with  the  "Whip-poor-will's  sad  song. 

To  swell  the  fading  echoes  that  resound 

So  softly  from  the  parting  melodies 

Of  day.     It  is  the  hour  when  holy  truths 

Press  deeply  on  the  heart, — the  boundless  might 

And  majesty  of  God!     His  voice  proclaimed 

"Let  there  be  light!"     And  lo,  the  earth  was 

bathed 
In  radiance ;  Nature  smiled,  and  warbling  throats 
Swelled  with  a  morning  paean.     Now  He  bids 
The  dazzling  sun  withdraw,  and  moonlight  falls 
Gently  on  vale  and  mountain.     Oh,  hoAV  sweet 


292  AN   EVENING   AT    CLIFF    COTTAGE. 

Its  message  to  tlie  spirit :   ''  Grod  is  love!'' 
The  zephyrs  bear  it  in  their  whispering  tones, 
As  with  a  murmuring  sigh  they  breathe  ''  Good 

night," 
And  sleep  among  the  blossoms.     It  is  read 
Upon  each  tiny  leaflet,  and  the  flowers 
Proclaim  it  from  their  perfumed  cells,  e'en  now, 
As  dreamily  they  hang,  all  wet  with  dew. 
Yielding  their  farewell  fragrance  to  the  night. 
Aye,  it  is  heard,  too,  in  the  lulling  flow 
Of  our  own  streamlet,  as  it  winds  around 
The  rugged  clifi",  telling  of  Him  who  made 
Each  trembling  star  that's  mirrored  in  its  face. 
Hush,  beating  heart,  be  still !     I  fain  would  catch 
Each  murmur  of  its  melody.     I  feel 
An  angel  presence  hovering  'mid  this  scene. 
And  musing  thought,  guided  by  its  sweet  spell, 
Looks  upward  to  the  Infinite.     Oh,  Thou, 
Beneath   whose    watchful    eye    this    great    world 

sleeps  ; 
Under  whose  parent  care  the  tiniest  bird 
May  fold  its  wing  in  peace ;  whose  love  extends 


AN  EVENING  AT  CLIFF  COTTAGE.     293 

E'en  to  the  smallest  butterfly  that  plays 
All  day  with  sunbeams  in  the  lily's  cup ; 
Teach  me  to  live,  that  when  Death's  shadows  fall 
Around  me  at  life's  evening,  hope  may  smile 
Like  moonlight  on  my  heart,  and  whisper  low 
Its  message  to  my  spirit :   "God  is  love  /" 


25* 


294 


NOT  AGAIN. 

Not  again,  lady  fair ; 

Never,  ah  !  never ; 
Thou  who  didst  sport  the  chain, 

Rent  it  forever. 

Gone  is  the  spirit's  trust, 

Gone,  and  forever ; 
Thou  canst  not  call  it  back, 

Charming  deceiver. 

Once  it  were  pain  to  part, — 
Then  I  believed  thee  ; 

Now  I  can  bear  the  smart, — 
Thou  hast  deceived  me. 


295 


A  SABBATH  IN  MAY. 

How  peacefully  Heaven's  light  upon  thee  dawns, 
Sweet  day  of  rest.     A  mellow  radiance 
Falls  from  bright  skies  o'er  all  this  blooming  earth, 
And  softly  to  the  ear  comes  the  slow  chime 
Of  distant  Sabbath  bells.     The  weary  heart 
Throws  oiF  its  weight  of  earthly  cares,  calls  back 
Its  scattered  thoughts  the  while,  and  yields  itself 
To  its  immortal  promptings.     Prayer  now  parts 
The  faithful  Christian's  lip,  and  the  soft  air 
Bears  to  the  sinner's  heart,  a  sweet,  low  tone. 
Which  seems  to  say,  "Repent."    Not  harshly  frills 
Upon  his  ear  that  mute,  appealing  voice, 
As  if  th'  avenging  wrath  of  Heaven  e'en  now 
Was  ripening  for  him,  if  he  longer  grieved 


296  A    SABBATH   IN   MAY. 

God's  long-forbearing  Spirit, — but  a  low 
Pleading  tone,  all  rife  with  mournful  music, 
As  if  borne  by  Angel  tongues  from  Calvary, 
Aye,  breathing  of  love,  long-suffering  love, 
It  steals  upon  his  heart  and  wakes  within 
An  answering  chord  of  earnest  penitence. 
Anon,  he  wanders  sadly  forth,  beneath 
The  azure  arch  of  Heaven,  and  feels  the  touch 
Of  soothing  summer  warmth  steal  softly  o'er 
His  weary  temples.     It  is  God's  light 
That  dawns  so  cheeringly  upon  him,  'tis 
His  atmosphere  that  feeds  that  principle 
Of  life  within  his  veins.     It  is  His  air 
That  plays  about  his  forehead,  and  he  hears 
A  mute  reproach  from  Nature.     Gazing  round, 
Sees  bird  and  bee,  and  blossom,  busy  all 
In  their  own  sphere  of  duty, — Man  alone, 
Of  all  created  things,  most  favored,  too. 
Delinquent.     Timid  flowers  look  meekly  up 
With  their  bright  smiling  eyes,  and  seem  to  say, 
"  We  cheerfully  fulfil  our  destiny. 
We  obey  our  glorious  Maker's  will, — 


A    SABBATH   IN   MAY.  207 

Why  do  not  you,  for  whom  Earth  yields  her  gifts 
Of  fragrant  bloom  and  beauty,  and  for  whom 
"We  smilingly  discharge  our  mission  pure, 
Of  summer  joy  and  sunshine?" 


298 


LITTLE  RANNIE. 

INSCRIBED    TO    MR.  AND    MRS.  WILLIAM    R.    BARBEE. 

I  HELD  him  in  mj  arms,  the  while 
Death  nearer  drew  each  hour, 

Until,  at  length,  a  blighting  change 
Passed  o'er  the  little  flower. 

He  did  not  shrink,  but  unto  me 
A  long,  fixed  gaze  was  given, 

And  well  I  knew  the  pearly  gates 
Now  stood  ajar  in  Heaven. 

I  clasped  his  hand,  and  closer  drew 
The  sweet  face  to  my  bosom, 

But  all  the  while  Death  waited  near, 
To  cull  the  dying  blossom. 


LITTLE    RANNIE.  299 

And  when,  at  last,  his  icy  breath 
Swept  o'er  the  form  so  cherished, 

A  still,  pale  lip  was  all  that  told 
The  little  flower  had  perished. 

A  nestling  Dove  might  so  have  died — 

Fearless,  and  tranquil-hearted ; 
As  lilies  droop,  and  violets  fade, 

The  baby-soul  departed. 

And  when  the  spirit  pure,  had  fled 

Back  to  our  Father's  keeping, 
A  smile  lit  up  the  pale,  cold  face, 

As  of  an  Angel  sleeping. 

And  soon  we  dressed  him  for  the  grave, 
And  smoothed  his  shining  tresses ; 

I  knew  the  while,  he  did  not  need 
Our  yearning  fond  caresses. 

But  yet  my  heart  went  out  to  you, 
Sad  father,  stricken  mother, 


300  LITTLE   RANNIE. 

And  ah  I  felt  how  hard  to  yield 
Our  dear  ones  to  another. 

We  laid  him  in  the  coffin  dim, — 
No  ties  of  earth  now  bound  him ; 

A  spotless  shrine  of  dust  he  lay, 
Spring's  early  flowers  around  him. 

And  now  where  hemlock  branches  wave 

O'er  mountain-summits,  keeping 
A  silent  watch  o'er  lonely  graves, 
'  His  baby-form  is  sleeping. 

Look  up,  then,  to  our  Father's  House, 
With  all  your  love  immortal, — 

Look  up ;  behold,  there  waits  for  you 
An  Angel  at  the  portal. 


301 


SONG. 

Air — "  Fve  Wandered  by  the  Brookside.''' 

And  must  our  spirits  severed  be, 

And  must  we  say  farewell, — 
We  who  have  nursed  so  tenderly 

The  hopes  we  dared  not  tell. 
Fast  gushing  tears  are  trembling  now, 

In  eyes  that  once  were  bright, 
And  hearts  that  bounded  joyously, 

Are  sunk  in  cheerless  night. 

How  hard  the  fate  that  thus  will  break 

Hearts  fondly  pledged  and  true. 
How  sadly  falls,  from  lips  that  love. 

That  parting  word,  ""  A<licu  !" 
But,  be  it  so,  though  never  more 

On  earth,  Hope's  light  may  shine. 
There's  comfort  in  the  single  thought. 

That  still  in  Heaven  thou'rt  mine. 
26 


302 


''ASHES  OF  ROSES."* 

Bring  hither  snowy  garlands  fair, 
And  wreathe  them  round  her  head, 

Bring  violets  and  lily -bells 
To  crown  the  youthful  Dead. 

Ah  !  hither  bring  the  "bridal  wreath," 

And  place  it  on  her  brow, — 
That  brow,  so  warm  beneath  its  folds, 

Alas  !  so  frozen  now. 

Three  fleeting  months  ! — too  soon,  too  soon. 

The  joyous  marriage  bell 
Is  hushed, — a  wail  is  on  the  air, 

A  wail, — her  funeral  knell. 

*  On  the  death  of  Isabel,  daughter  of  John  0.  L.  Goggin — wife 
of  F.  C.  Hutter,  of  Lynchburg,  Va. 


"ashes  of  roses."  303 

Three  months  I — a  brilliant  festive  scene, 

Mirth,  Tvit,  and  laughter  loud, — 
To-day  a  funeral  throng,  a  pall, 

A  coflBn  and  a  shroud. 

Three  months  I — the  beautiful,  the  bright 

Were  gathered  to  her  side. 
With  snowy  garlands,  fresh  and  gay. 

To  crown  the  youthful  Bride. 

To-day  they  come — no  laughing  voice 

Each  welcomed  footstep  cheers, — 
They  come  with  garlands,  pure  and  sweet, 

All  wet  with  funeral  tears. 

Alas  !  how  changed, — the  Man  of  God 

Is  here,  and  by  his  side. 
The  brave  young  Bridegroom,  trembling,  pale, — 

Death  claims  the  blooming  Bride. 

Ah,  Love  and  Death,  strange  words — he  weeps, 
All  desolate  and  lone — 


304  "ashes  of  roses." 

The  Dove,  scarce  folded  to  his  heart, 
Hath  upward  gazed,  and — flown. 

The  sunlight  of  his  marriage  joy 
Hath  set,  how  soon,  in  cloud, — 

The  bridal  veil,  a  winding  sheet, — 
The  bridal  dress,  a  shroud. 

And  we,  a  parted  household  band, 

We  mourn  the  vanished  light. 
Whose  presence  at  our  fireside  shone, 

A  sunbeam,  glad  and  bright. 

One  kiss, — draw  near,  ye  weeping  group, — 

Oh,  Parents  ! — sad  the  hour. 
Which  from  your  darkened  dwelling,  bears 

This  beautiful,  pale  flower. 

They  come,  they  come,  with  garlands  white,- 
Ah,  wreathe  them  round  her  head. 

With  Orange -flowers  and  Lily-bells, 
Crown  ye,  the  sainted  Dead ! 


305 


TO    ONE    IN   IIEIYEN. 
A  mother's  lament. 

INSCRIBEJ)    TO    MIlS.  JOHN  0.   L.   GOGGIN,   OF    LYNCHBURG. 

On  thou,  SO  early  gone ! 

Lent  for  awhile,  not  given ; 
Thou  who  "wcrt  here  on  earth  so  clear, 

Say,  shall  we  meet  in  Heaven  ? 

I  know  that  thou  art  there, — 

Briglit,  beautiful,  and  blest ; 
Shall  I,  through  paths  of  trial,  reach 

The  same  eternal  rest  ? 

Child  of  my  love  I  I  feel 

Thy  presence  hov'ring  nigh. 
In  every  whispering  tone  that's  heard 

In  earth,  or  air,  or  sky. 
26* 


306  TO    ONE    IN    HEAVEN. 

The  sun  with  splendor  shines 
At  morning's  clewj  hour ; 

Thy  vanished  smile  I  see  the  while, 
In  every  opening  flower. 

The  stars  look  calmly  down 
When  evening  shadows  glide, 

And  then,  ah  then  thou'rt  near  again, 
An  angel,  by  my  side. 

Thy  fcivorite  haunts  I  love, — 

In  every  spot  I  trace 
Some  tone  or  sign,  tliat  calls  to  mind 

Thy  dear,  departed  face. 

Ah,  whither  art  thou  gone, 

What  distant,  heavenly  spliere 

Contains  that  spirit,  glorified, 
So  fondly  cherished  here. 

I  bow  me  in  the  dust, 

I  weep  Avhen  none  are  near,— 


TO    ONE    IN    IIEAVEX.  307 

Say,  dost  thou,  from  thy  starry  home, 
Behohl  each  burning  tear  ? 

And  art  thou  less  mine  own 

Because  with  me  'tis  night, — 
"While  thou,  among  the  ransomed  throng, 

Art  walking  in  the  Light  ? 

Look  up  !  my  heart,  receive 

This  rod  in  wisdom  given, — 
"Endure  the  cross,  and  win  the  crown:" 

We'll  meet  again  in  Heaven. 

Child  of  my  love  I  I  seem 

To  see  thee  even  now, — 
Harp  in  thy  hand,  a  crown  of  Light 

Upon  thy  sinless  brow. 

And  thou  wilt  know  me  there 

(What  joy  the  thought  hath  given) — 

Thou'lt  know  me  when  through  Death's 
dark  vale 
I  go  to  thee  in  Heaven. 


308 


IMOGEN  TO  FREDERICK. 

WITH   A   BOUQUET    OF    PRESSED    FLOWERS. 

FROM   AN   UNFINISHED   POEM. 

"  'lie  forbids  me  to  write,'  said  the  ^Yife,  musingly,  'but  I  will 
send  him  these  pale  sweet  flowers  :  they  cannot  offend  ;  thej'  will 
say  all  that  my  heart  prompts  of  my  unchanging  love — of  our  child 
now  in  Heaven — of  the  Past — of  God.  Surely  the  appeal  cannot  be 
in  vain  ;'  and  Imogen  folded  the  faded  bouquet  in  a  neat  envelope, 
and  enclosed  with  it  a  few  simple  lines."' — Start/  of  "  Imogen,''''  by 
An  Old  Schoolmate. 

Flowers  have  a  language  of  mute  appeal, 

Let  these  then  into  thj  presence  steal ; 

And  let  them  kindly,  though  mutely,  tell 

Of  a  wounded  heart  ^Yhich  hath  loved  you  well ; — 

A  heart  which  unkindness  hath  bowed  to  earth. 

Whose  songs  are  wailings,  whose  joy  hath  dearth  ; 

Oh,  let  them  whisper  in  soft,  low  tone. 

Of  a  yearning  love  which  was  all  thine  own ; 


IMOGEN   TO   FREDERICK.  309 

A  loYC  which  the  tempest  and  storm  have  tried, 

Clinging  'mid  all  to  thine  alien  side. 

Ah  !  let  them  tell  of  the  banished  Past, 

With  its  record  of  fond  hopes,  flown  too  fast ; — 

AYith  its  vision  fair  which,  through  tears,  I  trace, 

Of  a  little  shroud  and  a  hahy  face. 

Oh  !  let  them  point  thee  to  Him  above, 

Whose  arm  is  almighty,  whose  name  is  Love ; — 

To  Him  who  alone  hath  the  power  to  save 

Earth's  sorrowing  children  beyond  the  grave : 

With  all  thy  burden  of  errors  done, 

Still,  still  look  up  to  that  sinless  One. 

This  be  the  message  I  send  to-day. 

On  a  perfumed  breath  from  my  heart  away. — 

In  all  thy  moments  of  mirth  and  joy. 

When  sorrows  cloud,  and  when  cares  annoy ; — 

In  all  thy  lonely  and  musing  hours, 

Harhy  to  the  voice  of  my  faded  jioivers- 


310 


WHERE  IS  HELEN? 

Where  is  Helen  ? — I  have  listened  long 
For  the  joyous  tones  of  her  welcome  song; — 
I've  waited  her  footstep  on  the  stair ; 
I've  been  to  her  home,  but  she  is  not  there. 

Childhood's  sweet  voice  hath  greeted  my  car, 
With  its  silvery  music,  wild  and  clear; 
And  daintiest  lips,  too,  ni}^  own  have  pressed 
With  the  fervor  of  Innocence,  pure  and  blest. 

But  I  look  in  vain  for  an  cjc  that  shone 
With  Affection's  light  as  it  met  my  own ; 
And  a  form  is  missed  that  was  wont  to  Hide 
With  an  Angel's  gentleness  near  my  side. 


WHERE    IS   HELEN?  311 

I've  questioned  the  flowers  if  they  would  tell 
Where  this  bud  of  my  heart  may  chance  to  dwell ; 
But  the  flowers  reply,  "  AVe  are  sleeping  low 
In  our  wintry  prisons,  and  may  not  know." 


Then  I  asked  the  birds  which  she  used  to  love. 
Whither  had  wandered  the  household  Dove ; 
And  they  warbled  an  answer  wild  and  clear, 
But  its  mournful  melody  pained  my  ear. 


I  gazed  on  the  clouds  as  they  floated  by. 
Through  the  azure  depths  of  the  distant  sky. 
And  methought  of  a  radiant  clime  above, 
AVhere  all  is  gladness,  and  peace,  and  love. 

Where  "little  ones"  find  an  eternal  rest 
In  the  Saviour's  gentle  and  loving  breast; 
And  Faith  whispered  low,  to  my  listening  ear- 
"  Earth's  brightest  and  best  find  a  haven  here. 


312  WHERE    IS    HELEN? 

"The  form  thou  hast  missed  lies  asleep  with  the 

flowers; 
Thy  Bird  sings  its  song  amid  heavenly  bowers ; 
The  crown  of  the  ransomed  is  on  her  brow — 
The  child  whom  thou  seek'st  is  an  Angel  now." 


O  1  o 

oio 


MY  LITTLE  NAMESAKE. 

I  HAVE  a  little  namesake, 
A  pet  of  two  years  old, 

Whose  baby  features  all  were  cast 
In  Beauty's  fairest  mould. 

She's  a  joyous  little  creature. 

As  blithe  as  any  bird  ; 
And  sweeter  prattle  all  day  long, 

I'm  sure  I  never  heard. 

She  tries  to  play  "the  lady," 
And  takes  her  little  chair, 

And  places  it  beside  my  own 
With  such  a  roguish  air ; 

And  with  her  sweet  hands  folded, 
Her  bright  eyes  fixed  on  me, 

27 


314  MY   LITTLE   NAMESAKE. 

She  laughs,  to  have  me  notice 
Her  mimic  dignity. 

But  while  I  pause  to  praise  her, 
She's  up  and  tottling  round ; 

And  such  a  busy  "■  lady" 
Can  nowhere  now  be  found. 

Sometimes  she  hides,  to  have  mc 
Look  for  her  anxiously, 

And  if  I  fail  to  find  her, 

She'll  call  out,  '-^ ycr  is  me.'' 

And  when  I  walk  at  morning, 
I  scarcely  reach  the  gate. 

Ere  I  hear  her  sweet  voice  calling, 
"  Oily  Aunty y  jycseum  'ait.'' 

Then  over  field  and  meadow. 
And  up  the  green  hillside. 

This  little  sunbeam  follows. 
An  Angel  at  my  side. 


MY   LITTLE   NAMESAKE.  315 

She  loves  the  bright-eyed  blossoms, 

And  not  a  blade  of  grass 
Can  hide  its  tiny  head  t'  escape 

Her  notice  as  we  pass. 

The  bird,  "vvith  plumage  gay  and  bright. 

The  bee,  the  butterfly. 
All,  all  are  welcomed  as  they  float 

Before  her  wondering  eye. 

God  bless  my  little  namesake  ! 

Watch  o'er  her  from  the  skies. 
Until  in  Death  some  Angel,  bright, 

Shall  close  her  beaming  eyes. 


316 


THE  FEAR  OF  BLINDNESS. 


WRITTEN   DURING   A   PERIOD    OP    GREAT    SUFFERING   FROM 
ASTHENOPIA. 


A  BROODING  shadow  clouds  my  heart, 

A  shadow  dark  and  deep, 
Which  crowns  with  gloom  my  waking  hom'S, 

And  haunts  me  when  I  sleep. 

The  strange,  wild  fear  that  veiled  to  me 

Must  be  Earth's  glorious  things. 
Shut  from  my  gaze  each  beauteous  flower 

Which  from  her  bosom  springs. 

* 
I  dearly  love  yon  arching  sky, 

In  sunshine  and  in  storm ; 
Its  calm,  bright  smile,  its  lightning  glance, 

Its  rainbow's  circling  form. 


THE    FEAR    OF    BLINDNESS.  317 

I  love  the  pale,  sweet,  quiet  moon 

That  lights  that  sky  at  even ; 
And,  more  than  all,  the  holy  stars 

That  gem  the  brow  of  Heaven. 

I  love,  ah  I  Avell,  the  woods  and  streams, 

Mid  summer's  fervid  ray  ; 
To  Avatch  the  foaming  torrent's  leap, 

The  brooklet's  sparkling  play. 

I  love  the  mountains,  ohl  and  grand. 

The  valleys,  green  and  fair ; 
The  flowers  that  deck  tlie  verdant  hills, 

The  birds  that  swim  the  air. 

I  love  the  Sea,  the  murmuring  Sea, 

When  calm  its  blue  waves  rest, 
E'en  as  a  sleeping  child  might  lay 

Upon  its  mother's  breast. 

I  love  it  Avhen  its  billows  wild 
In  madness  darkly  roll, 

27* 


318  THE   FEAR   OF   BLINDNESS. 

And  angry  waves  swell  high  beneath 
The  storm-kmg's  fierce  control. 

I  love  all  bright  and  glorious  things, 
The  earth,  the  sky,  the  sea ; 

And  yet  the  while  I  gaze  on  anght, 
This  strange  fear  haunteth  me. 

Why  is  it  that  the  brightest  sun 
Thus  mocks  my  yearning  sight  ? 

I  once  could  view  each  dazzling  beam 
With  rapture  and  dcliglit. 

AVliy  is  it  from  the  noodtide  glare 

I  sadly  turn  away  ? — 
Alas  !   to  my  poor  heart  there  comes 

A  pang  witli  every  ray. 

Yes,  strange,  dark  lines,  of  late,  appear 

Before  my  burning  eyes  ; 
And  when  I  test  their  waning  power. 

Distorted  visions  rise. 


THE    FEAR    OF    BLINDNESS.  319 

In  mercy,  Father,  close  them  not ; 

Take  not,  take  not  I  pray. 
That  priceless  boon  which  Thou  hast  given, — 

The  boon  of  siirht,  away. 

Let  me  yet  look  in  thankfulness 

On  Nature's  glorious  face. 
And  in  her  smile  or  frown  the  while, 

Thyself,  her  Maker,  trace. 

Ileal,  oh  I  my  God  ;  in  pity,  heal 

These  aching  orbs  of  mine. 
That  e'en  on  earth  I  still  may  sec 

Thine  image  faintly  shine. 

Ah,  let  me  welcome,  as  of  yore, 

Tlie  Day's  returning  light. 
And  I  will  bless  the  hand  which  gave 

This  priceless  boon  of  sight. 

Or  if,  in  wisdom.  Thou  wouldst  not 

Thy  threatening  rod  displace. 
Let  me.  Thy  name  still  praising,  still 

In  darkness  see  Thy  face. 


320 


A  DAUGHTER'S  TRAYER. 

From  tliis  low  couch  of  pain  whereon  he  lies, 
Whom  Thou  hast  given  me,  my  father  dear, 
I  lift  mine  eyes,  and  with  full  heart,  Oh,  God  ! 
I  pray  that  Thou  wilt  hear  me  from  the  i?kies. 
'Tis  not  for  us  in  blindness  to  arraiirn 
That  wisdom  wliicli  afflicts,  or  seek  to  know 
The  hidden  ways,  by  wliich  Thou  lead'st  us  here 
Through  paths  of  trial  oft,  disease,  and  pain. 
I  know  til  at  we  have  sinned  and  gone  astray 
From  Thy  commandments ;  yet  we  are.  Oh,  God  ! 
Thy  children  still, — as  such,  then  lead  us  back 
To  Thee  again,  through  Christ,  the  Living  Way. 
Thy  chastening  hand  lies  heavily  and  sore 
On  one  I  dearly  love  ; — a  father's  form 
Is  slowly  wasting  from  a  sure  disease, — 


A    DAUGHTEirs   PRAYER.  821 

Be  Thou  liis  strength,  Oh,  Christ !  I  ask  no  more. 
Thou  who  hast  suffering  known,  whose  sinless  brow 
Once  drooped  in  anguish  'neath  its  thorny  crown, — 
Oh  I  from  Thy  throne  in  Heaven  look  kindly  down 
On  him,  for  whom  these  tears  are  falling  now. 
Lo  I   through  the  partings  of  his  thin  gray  hair, 
And  on  his  cheek,  a  shadowy  paleness  lies, — 
My  heart  grows  heavy  as  mine  eyes  behold  it, — 
I  pray  Thee,  Saviour,  make  him  all  Thy  care. 
Say  to  disease,  away,  and  let  the  glow 
Of  health  once  more  illume  his  pallid  fiice, — 
Bid  the  weak  knees  be  strong,  and  once  again 
Let  the  cool  breath  of  hcalinjr  fan  his  brow. 
Give  him  but  length  of  years,  and  deign  to  bless 
The  filial  prayer,  adding  to  this  that  boon, 
"'  A  Iwary  head  ivith  its  bright  Glory-crotvn^ 
Found  only  in  the  ivay  of  righteousness.'' 
Hear  me,  oh,  God  !   our  times  are  in  Thy  hands. 
The  number  of  our  days  recorded  there, — 
Thy  voice  alone  didst  say  when  should  begin, 
And  Thine  alone  canst  stay  Life's  flowing  sands. 
Or  if  it  be  Thy  will  that  I  must  see 


322  A  daughter's  prayer. 

These  dear  ejes  close    in    Death's  ne'er-waking 

sleep, 
In  that  dark  hour  open  Heaven's  ''pearly  gates" 
To  him,  and  send  Thj  Comforter  to  me. 


323 


''THY  WILL  BE  DONE." 

The  twilight  deepens  into  night, 

And  stars  look  down  with  pensive  light 

As  oft  before, 
And  from  yon  distant  sky  so  clear. 
The  gentle  moonbeams  wander  near, 

E'en  to  my  door. 

Spring's  early  flowers, — the  Violet  blue, 
The  Cowslip  and  the  Crocus,  too. 

Have  come  again. 
And  from  its  moonlit  bed  of  green. 
The  sweet  Forget-me-not  is  seen, — 

Ah !  not  in  vain. 

For  to  my  heart  the  twilight  dim, 
And  night-time  with  its  holy  hymn 
Of  voices  low, 


324  "thy  will  be  done." 

Brings  but  one  picture, — that  I  trace 
In  star  and  flower, — a  father's  face 
Hid  from  me  now. 

My  God,  I  prayed  that  Thou  wouldst  stay 
The  blow,  and  take  him  not  away 

And  leave  me  here, 
For  ^\c\\  I  knew  the  world  would  be 
Alas,  how  dark  and  drear  to  me. 

Without  him  near. 

But  on  that  cheerless  winter  night 
When  floating  shadows  dimmed  the  light 

From  hearthstone  cast, 
I  watched  a  change,  though  slight  its  trace. 
Pass  o'er  his  patient,  suflfering  face — 

It  was  the  last. 

And  then  they  told  me  he  must  die. 
But  resignation's  calm  reply 
I  could  not  speak. 


^^THY   WILL    BE    DONE."  325 

For  love  is  selfish,  and  Thy  rod 
Seemed  very  hard  to  bear,  my  God, 
For  I  was  weak. 

And  when  all  motionless  he  lay, 

A  soulless  shrine  of  slumbering  clay, 

My  brain  grew  wild, — 
I  said  I  could  not  live  and  see 
Him  dead,  and  know  that  I  must  be 

An  orphan  child. 

Ah,  Jesus, — this  poor  weary  heart 
Hath  learned  to  bear,  of  grief,  its  part, 

And  still  throb  on. 
The  broken  heart  Thou  bindcst  up. 
And  Thou  hast  portioned  out  my  cup, — 

**  Thy  will  be  done." 

Close  to  Thy  cross,  oh,  Christ !  I  cling. 
Under  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing. 
Hide  me,  ah  !  hide. 
28 


326  *'thy  will  be  done." 

Low  at  Thy  feet  my  spirit  lies, — 
Look  on  me  with  Thy  pitying  eyes, 
Thou  Crucified ! 

The  way  is  dark,  but  Thou  wilt  be 
My  guide  ;  and  clouds  and  shadows  flee 

At  Thy  command. 
Oh !   'mid  the  waves  that  darkly  roll, 
And  threaten  to  o'erwhelm  my  soul. 

Stretch  forth  Thy  hand. 

And  though  through  all  Life's  sorrow^ing  vale, 
My  heart  sends  forth  its  tearful  wail, — 

"  Alone,  alone  !" 
Let  Thy  dear  Cross  but  strengthen  me 
Always,  and  all  my  song  shall  be, 

''  Thy  Avill  be  done." 


327 


A  NATIONAL  HYMN  FOR  THE  NEW 
YEAR. 


Air— ''Old  Ihmdred:' 


God  of  tlic  Y^car  ! — whose  watchful  eye 

O'er  all  Thy  great  Creation  bends; 
Whose  mercies  all  Thy  children  share ; 

Whose  love  to  all  Thy  works  extends — 
In  this  our  Country's  hour  of  need, 

A  Nation's  heart  bows  down  to  Thee ; 
In  mercy  rule  the  impending  storm 

Fast  gathering  o'er  our  liberty. 

Righteous  and  wondrous  are  Thy  ways, 
And  all  Thy  judgments  true  and  just — 

Ah  !  let  not  vaunting  Discord  trail 
Our  glorious  Banner  in  the  dust ; 


328       A    NATIONAL    HYMN    FOR    THE    NEW   YEAR. 

That  banner,  o'er  whose  stainless  folds 
Hath  flowed  the  life-blood  of  the  brave ; 

For  which,  in  times  of  danger  past. 
Their  all  our  fathers  nobly  gave. 

Shall  gaunt  Disunion  hovering  nigh 

To  our  bright  flag  destruction  bring. 
While,  'mid  the  brooding  shadows  dark, 

Our  Eagle  droops  his  wounded  wing  ? 
No !  show  Thy  face,  Almighty  God, 

While  peril  stalks  on  every  hand; 
Stretch  forth  tliinc  own  all-powerful  arm. 

And  save  our  own,  our  Native  Land. 

Ah,  save  the  Land  which  gave  us  birth; 

The  Land  for  which  our  fathers  bled  ; 
Through  whose  worn  paths  our  infant  feet 

Were,  earliest,  to  Thy  Temples  led. 
God  !  save  the  Land,  in  whose  blest  soil 

Sleeps  Freedom's  best  and  noblest  son, 
Nor  let  Discord  her  triumphs  boast 

Above  the  Grave  of  Washington. 


A    NATIONAL   HYMN   FOR   THE   NEW   YEAR.       320 

Stay,  stay  the  raging  billows,  Lord, — 

E'en  waves  obey  Thy  great  command. 
Thou  boldest  Nations,  great  and  small, 

"Within  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand. 
Oh  !  in  this  fearful,  trying  hour, 

Our  refuge  and  our  safety  be, 
As  'mid  the  tempest,  threat'ning,  dark, 

A  Nation's  heart  looks  up  to  Thee. 

Hide  not  Thy  face  in  anger  now. 

Though  we  have  erred  and  strayed  from  Thee, 
And  in  our  boasted  might,  perchance. 

To  other  idols  bowed  the  knee. 
Remember  not  our  wanderings.  Lord, 

As  on  Destruction's  brink  we  stand ; 
But  kindly  call,  in  Mercy's  voice. 

And  lead  us  back  by  Mercy's  hand. 

God  of  the  Year  !  receive  our  prayer. 
In  this  our  Country's  trying  hour ; 

Unveil  Thy  face — stretch  forth  Thine  arm — 
And  save  us  by  Thy  mighty  power. 


330       A   NATIONAL   HYMN   FOR   THE   NEAV   YEAR. 

So  shall  our  praise  be  of  Thy  name, 
Our  glad  hosannas  all  of  Thee, 

As  o'er  Columbia  still  shall  wave 
The  banner  of  the  brave  and  free. 

January  1st,  1861. 


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